How to Catch a Goblin King
by Viciously Witty
Summary: What happens when Sarah accidentally crashes a goblin royal wedding and inadvertently proposes to the groom? What happens when the groom accepts? They're bound of course. After all, what's said is said. You are cordially invited to an Underground wedding!
1. The Wedding

**Credit:** The prompt of interrupted/accidental marriage was 100 percent inspired by the fic Wedding Bells by whythokylo (OpalElephant) on AO3. It's an awesome(!) WIP in the Star Wars fandom (Reylo). Seriously go read it if you like that pairing. Or even if you don't, read it anyway. I really, really hope she finishes it.

I've never done this before (borrowed someone else's idea) so when I got this plot bunny to adapt it for Labyrinth I immediately reached out to the author, who was most gracious and lent me her permission (many thanks!). This chapter mirrors her first chapter in plot. Credit needs to go to her for that idea.

The rest of the story will veer away sharply (and be wholly mine) but damned if this scenario was just TOO fun to write. I had to explore this scenario with our dynamic duo.

* * *

**Part I**

"In olden times, sacrifices were made at the altar, a practice which is still very much practiced."

**Helen Rowland**

* * *

It was all Hoggle's fault.

Or at least that's what Sarah would tell herself later. A balm to soothe her wounded pride.

It was his fault she'd even been in the Underground, she reasoned. His fault she'd gotten turned around. For a caretaker he really was abysmal with directions. His fault she'd opened the door the wrong way. Again.

And most assuredly his fault for not warning her what was happening on the other side. _If you open it this way..._

As Sarah stepped through the door she gracelessly tripped over the uneven flag stone and swore.

The first indication that she was decidedly NOT in the Goblin Market, was the fact that her creative profanity echoed rather spectacularly. The second indication that she was not amongst the lower denizens of the Labyrinth, ready to barter and trade their wares, was the sudden hushed silence followed by exclamations of surprise and indignation.

The third and final, most damning, indication was the realization that she was clearly crashing some sort of ceremony.

"Oh… Fuck," Sarah breathed. It echoed just as loudly in what appeared to be a great hall.

Two hundred odd faces peered back at her – their expressions a cross between amusement and censure. The beautiful guests were quite lavishly dressed for what was evidently a celebration. A further scan suggested a wedding. The hall itself, whose tall walls were intricately carved, had no roof, so that the skies in every shade of azure and crimson was its canopy. It was breathtaking, Sarah would admit later when she'd had time to reflect, had it not been festooned with flowers, candles, crystals, and gaudy accents of chartreuse.

She immediately turned around to flee but the door she'd just come through – the one that _should_ have led to the Goblin Market stalls had she opened it the right way – was, because of course, gone.

The couple-to-be were kneeling facing a stone, rather archaic looking, altar. The priest, or whatever kind of officiant he was, held a braided cord and a rather lethal looking dagger. He was obviously on the cusp of binding the bride and groom. In fact he looked just as surprised as Sarah – their faces almost comically mirrored - until his cleared into another expression altogether. One that might have alarmed her had she thought about it long enough. He looked expectantly towards the bride.

The hitherto silent crowd began to murmur. The hush rising to something almost alive with anticipation. There was a spike of energy in the air that even Sarah felt. It made the hair on her neck prickle.

She was keenly aware that everyone was looking at her and then back at the bride. Keenly aware that she was underdressed and uninvited. Keenly aware that she was mortal in a room full of magical beings.

Two things happened at once.

A small, knightly voice, said, "My Lady?" and the bride leapt to her feet with a shrill shriek of indignation. Sarah only had a moment to register that the speaker was Sir Didymus, and that he was staring at her rather hopefully, dressed in the most ridiculous page boy outfit she'd ever seen, before the bride was running full tilt down the aisle towards her. Belatedly she realized that the bride must have snatched the ceremonial blade and was brandishing it like she'd very much like to gut Sarah with it.

Sarah could well-understand her being upset that she'd interrupted her wedding, but murder seemed a bit of an overreaction. Before the bride could close the distance, Sir Didymus, who'd clearly leapt into knightly action and followed the murderous bride, tossed his spear gallantly to Sarah.

Sarah caught it _after_ it smacked into her face. Sarah braced herself, eyes wide and nose throbbing. None of the other guests seem invested in stopping either Sarah or the bride, but were content to watch the inevitable battle. With a sinking sense of impending doom, she realized she was entirely on her own.

And the Doom did come, though not in the way she had expected.

It is a truth universally acknowledged that one should never run with sharp things. All creatures know that.

The bride, her pinched face a mask of fury, had clearly forgotten. The uneven flagstone of the hall found its second victim. She went down in a flurry of silk and skirts. There was a grunt, a rather disgusting squelching sound and then a moan. The woman rolled onto her back, her face now pinched in pain and disbelief, as she clutched her side. The gilded hilt of the dagger protruded from the chartreuse dress – now slowly staining red.

Sarah gaped at her, her own disbelief patent. All she had wanted to do was find her ring. The one she'd given to the Wiseman so many years ago. The one Hoggle had sworn he'd seen for sale amongst the baubles and trinkets. Maybe pick up some goblin tchotchkes for Toby.

But instead bloodshed.

She mouthed a sorry at the bride, though later she would consider it rather charitable of her. The bride would certainly not have apologized for impaling her. Still, she reasoned that though she was having a no good, very bad day, the bride was probably having a worse one – first an interrupted wedding and now a nasty knife wound, albeit self-inflicted. Not exactly every girl's dream.

Add salt to the wound that the groom didn't seem overly concerned neither by the interruption nor by his wife-to-be's injury. She looked up right into the mismatched eyes of an approaching Goblin King.

Sarah swore for the third time, this time uncaring of her breach in decorum. She immediately opened her mouth to apologize, though unsure what she'd say beyond,_ hey, long time no see. What's it been? Like 10 years? Sorry for ruining your wedding. Congratulations. Oh and double sorry for indirectly causing your wife to stab herself. We should grab coffee sometime._

Of course she didn't get a chance to say of it.

The Goblin King, eyes locked on Sarah's face with an expression that was part amusement, part something altogether more intense, extended a hand and said, "I accept."

His words echoed far louder than any of Sarah's epithets. The crowd exhaled collectively, like they'd been holding their breath in anticipation of how everything played out.

Distantly, she caught whispers of, 'the Champion', and 'the girl who ate the peach', and 'I'm so glad I came today after all, I love a good stabbing'.

Before she could return more than a brief look of confusion, he took her hand and folded it into his own, recognizing that she was apparently not going to touch him willingly.

Sarah jerked as though stabbed herself. He was not wearing his usual gloves, and his hand was strong and surprisingly warm around hers. Something like electricity sparked against her skin.

It jolted her into awareness. "Wait… accept what?" She tugged on her hand, but his grip was implacable.

"Your offer of marriage," he replied evenly.

Sarah stopped pulling altogether. "… excuse me… MY WHAT?"

Jareth ignored her outburst and flicked his hand imperiously at the officiant. The be-robed man jumped into action and began hurrying down the aisle.

Sarah looked to the guests for confirmation that their monarch was certifiable.

Nothing. Not one flicker of surprise.

She shook her head and hissed, "I'm not sure what's going on here but I most certainly did _not_ ask you to marry me."

Jareth's lip curled just enough to rankle even more. "Oh, but you did."

Despite what the current predicament suggested, Sarah was, in fact, not stupid. It occurred to her that marriages worked differently in the underground. It would have been easy for her to misstep during such a foreign ceremony. Literally. As the fallen, and stabbed, bride proved.

Sarah forced a calm she decidedly did not feel into her voice. "Supposing I INADVERTANTLY AND UNINTENIONALLY, somehow asked you to," she swallowed the overwhelming sense of panic, "marry me. It was an accident and I take it back."

Jareth's mouth formed a full smile that did nothing to relax her. "You take it back..."

Sarah nodded vigorously.

Thin lips twitched and Sarah anticipated he was going to enjoy what he said next. "What's said is said."

"Not that again," she pulled a face. "And I literally _said_ nothing."

"Actually your language thus far has been fairly… colourful. But true. You said nothing. Nothing needed to be spoken. Your actions are what matters. You stopped a very ancient Underground rite at," he finished with relish, "the precise time it could be stopped."

"An a-c-c-ident."

"As you say," he agreed cordially. "But the fact remains you _accidentally_ challenged the bride for the right to wed the king. A very sacred honour and one not to be undertaken lightly."

"It was undertaken accidentally!" Sarah protested, feeling like everything was spinning.

"Yes, you keep saying that like you expect it to change something. The point is you won." He leaned in so only she could hear the last, his breath fanning hotly on the shell of her ear in a way that made her nerves dance. "Again."

Sarah stopped her fight for a minute, both shell-shocked and acutely aware everyone in the hall was hanging on every word they exchanged.

Feeling her small submission, Jareth tightened his hold on her hand. "This time I'm far from angry. Consider me in your debt, precious." He eyed the fallen bride. "Arranged marriages are always a disappointment. Her blood spilling first marks her defeat."

"Aha! But she cut herself. I didn't even touch her!"

Jareth ignored her burst of enthusiasm. "And your _victory_ demonstrates both your worthiness to take her place and, more importantly, your desire to do so." There was no mistaking the smug satisfaction in his words, nor the look he gave her. "I accept your offering."

Somewhere amongst the guests a voice sighed like it was the most romantic thing heard. Sarah realized it was Didymus.

Right then and there she decided she would absolutely kill Hoggle. Rend him limb from limb. The bog was far too good for him.

That would have to wait of course. The immediate threat was standing by her side – far too closely. Her voice warbled only slightly when she spoke. "You must know I have no intention of marrying you."

If the victorious look he directed her felt like a slap in the face, the words he spoke next were an absolute cudgel.

"My dear, champion, you already did."

* * *

Dun Dun Dun!

I love the arranged marriage/ forced marriage trope. Here's the accidental one.

This will probably be borderline crack. Definitely lighter fare than the Goblin Market and the fic which shall not be named*. I should be working on _that_ one but I've had this pressing on my brain for months and I needed to get it out. *breathes deeply and groans* That's better.

Thanks to LFFL for working as a sounding board for ceremony ideas. More on that later.

*I swear to GOD I am almost ready to post the next chap to Tanglewood. It's written - I'm just editing it because I keep changing my damn mind about order of events (whines pathetically).


	2. The Binding

"Marriage is an adventure, like going to war."

**G. K. Chesterton**

* * *

This time there was no echo.

None.

Instead his response shot like an arrow straight into her head. Her thoughts scattered - turned nebulous. Amorphous… pea soup like.

None of them were particularly helpful either.

…_Run…. _

…_Or maybe stand so still they won't notice you…_

…_At least Karen will finally be happy… and bonus - no drunken Uncle Tom with his infamous wedding toasts... _

…_Would not have chosen that colour but actually the flowers aren't that bad… _

…_Run… _

…_Would I be Mrs.… Goblin Queen? Did he even have a last name? Not that she'd take it anyway. And he's a king so not Mrs. Anything actually…_

…_.WHY AREN'T YOU RUNNING, YOU FOOL! _

…_No wait… say something first… something pithy or scathing. Anything. They are all staring at you, you idiot!_

Someone cleared their throat.

Sarah's mind cleared enough to register that the priest was saying something to Jareth and gesturing between them. Jareth eyed her, his gaze calculating, and then nodded. And not in the, this was just all a prank don't you find it funny, reassuring kind of way.

Before she could do anything else the Goblin King thrust their joined hands forward.

The priest cleared his throat again, this time looking decidedly uncomfortable. Jareth's expression grew annoyed. Impatient.

Following suit the guests began to murmur again.

The priest towards her and whispered, "You don't happen to have a knife on you, do you miss?"

By rote, Sarah _almost_ began to feel her pockets before she caught herself and hissed, "No, of course I don't! This is NOT a real wedding."

"I'll admit it's a bit unorthodox but we'll set it all right" he tutted in a way she assumed was meant to be reassuring.

She turned her attention back to the figure holding her in place. "Let. Me. Go."

Jareth ignored her demand before looking down, and letting out a satisfied, "aha." He bent swiftly, half tugging Sarah with him, and used his free hand to grip the dagger still protruding from his ex-fiancée. "I fear I owe you more apologies, my dear. Though I'd wager you'd rather be free of this of anyway."

The woman gaped at him incredulously as he tugged. It made another awful squelching sound upon exiting. Jareth frowned at the blood-stained blade, eyes considering and then dismissing his impeccable wedding suit, before settling on the green dress. "Another apology for your collection." He wiped it clean.

It was difficult to say if the bride or Sarah looked more appalled.

The Goblin King rose and proffered the blade hilt first to the priest.

Even though she knew what was about to happen, the first thing out of her mouth was not the requisite 'hell no', and instead, "That is incredibly unhygienic," in what she hoped was a suitably chiding tone. She glanced back down at the prostrate woman. "No offence."

The priest drew the dagger across Jareth's palm and then reached for Sarah's.

"Like hell!" she protested, guarding her hand. And then her expression lit up. "If I refuse this we're not really married, right?"

Jareth shot her a withering look. "This is a mere formality, Sarah. What's done is done. We are already married in every sense of the word."

Sarah looked to the priest for confirmation. He inclined his head. _Bastard._ "Well then if it's _only_ a formality, I still refuse!"

"But don't you feel the sacred bond already?" The priest interjected, still clearly trying to be helpful. "The pull to be one?"

"I feel many things – none of them married. I feel angry," Sarah began counting fingers on her free hand, "disgusted, embarrassed, disappointed, and maybe just a little bit nauseous."

"Aye." The priest nodded sagely. "That's married."

She let loose a sound of impotent rage.

"Ladies choice of course." Jareth demurred calmly, belied by the sly look in his eyes. "If you'd prefer we can do the more ancient version of the binding rite. It's largely fallen out of practice but I'm game if you are."

"What's the other version," she asked by rote, already suspecting she would in no way like the answer judging by the hopeful expressions beginning to litter the older – mostly male - guests' faces.

"Consummation on the sacred altar of course."

Her eyes locked on the stone dais with a sense of mounting mortification. He had to be joking. They snapped back to the Goblin King when she realized he'd begun to undo his cravat, while tugging the collar of his shirt open.

There were several feminine - and male - exclamations of excitement from the crowd, as well as a rather jubilant, "Bloodshed and a show! What a wedding!"

"This. Is. Insane."

Another button popped open.

"Stop that!" Though her eyes kept trailing back to his long fingers and the pale skin they were slowly revealing. "This is _so not_ happening."

"I understand your reluctance to disrobe in front of all the soot and sundry – we can work around that - but we have to give the guests _some_ skin. It would be uncharitable otherwise." He winked at a nearby woman who promptly began fanning herself with her companion's beard.

In the distraction, Sarah failed to notice the Goblin King's subtle nod to the priest. Second to never running with sharp objects was always keep your eyes on the enemy. Preferably his face, Sarah would add later.

"Well I suppose we don't need this after all," the priest announced loudly and then made motions as though he were going to return the knife – literally – to the sheath of flesh from whence it had come.

Three things happened at once.

The ex-bride squealed in protest. Sarah shouted and instinctively bent to stop him. The priest twisted the knife at the last moment so that Sarah's hand closed about the blade instead of the hilt.

"Son of a bitch!" This time the echo was thundering.

The priest immediately looked affronted. "I'll have you know my mother was a very respectable ogress and not a mongrel!"

Jareth had stopped undressing much to the disappointment of at least half the congregation. He caught Sarah's injured hand up in his own – palm to palm. The contact stung painfully, but overlaying it was the sensation of something else altogether. Electricity danced up her arm like lightning.

Not one to waste her rare silence, the priest bound their hands together with a silken cord, tying it closed with an intricate knot. He then spoke words in a language Sarah didn't understand, though she suspected she wouldn't like. The cords glowed, almost blindingly, and then melted into their skin and disappeared.

There was a collective sigh as though everybody has released a breath at once. The priest beamed approvingly. Jareth looked caught between a mixture of relief and intense satisfaction.

Finally free Sarah began clawing at her skin. "What the hell was that?"

"It means the union has been accepted and blessed! It is now sacrosanct."

Sarah turned murderous. "I thought you said it was only a formality?!"

"A slip of the tongue… _wife_."

His words were greeted with joyous applause. It looked like someone let off a glitter cannon. In the meantime, the bride's family had finally come to collect her. Half of them looked ready to gut Sarah, and the other half looked relieved as though they'd been against the wedding in the first place. Sarah would wonder about that later.

Thankfully there didn't seem to be the convention of kissing expected. In fact, having released her Jareth was gleefully accepting congratulations from every angle and was paying little attention paid to her.

Sarah received a few well-meaning pats but when it became clear the guests were in danger of being bitten she was given space.

Sir Didymus appeared silently at her side. He bowed deeply. "My heartfelt congratulations, my lady. Or should I say, your majesty."

Sarah blinked, a frown curling her lips. "What did you just call me?"

"Er… it was a lovely wedding."

A look of disbelief.

"Well, I mean… it was _a_ wedding."

Sarah snorted. "Certainly not the way I envisioned it." She scanned the hall for any type of available alcohol.

"Less bloodshed, my lady?"

"Less Chartreuse."

Didymus nodded, one paw brushing against his ridiculous page boy outfit self-consciously.

"Less bloodshed too. Less glitter. Less magic." She glanced at the Goblin King. "Less…" But trailed off because that wouldn't have been entirely true if she were being honest. A thought she did not want to explore further.

And then it occurred to her that she was, for the first time since she entered the hall, being largely ignored. She snagged the fox by the collar. "Act natural and follow me."

Sarah began backing towards the far end of the hall slowly, a Crest-worthy smile plastered on her face as she acknowledged any guest who happened to glance her way. For his part Sir-Didymus was surprisingly quiet, seemingly amendable towards whatever quest she had in mind. Or perhaps just eager to change his clothes.

When they reached the far alcove, Sarah ducked behind a pillar. "You must know of another way out."

"My lady?" he asked doubtfully.

"I'm getting out of here, Didymus. Right now."

"But-"

Sarah affected a pleading, guileless voice. "Should you need us…"

The fox sighed in resignation and then scowled. "You still owe me a game of Scrabble." He tugged her by the hand and led her to one of the tapestries adorning the high stone walls. A furtive glance in all directions and then he lifted it, pushing her under with surprising strength

And then she was falling.

Again.

"Didymus!"

And then hands.

Everywhere.

Faces began to form. "Up or down?"

"Oh, god. Not you again!" Sarah squirmed in their grip.

"Us again?" one face asked.

Fingers conferred amongst themselves. "It's _the_ girl."

"_The_ Champion."

"Hoo, hoo, hoo. Bit more to her this time."

Sarah jerked in indignation. "Hey! Watch what you're touching there, buddy!"

"Up or down?" the first demanded again.

"We haven't got all day."

Tired and indignant, and most importantly, remembering what had happened the last time she'd been there, Sarah firmly answered, "Up. Definitely."

"Are you sure?" They crooned in unison.

"What? Why?!"

"Too late now!"

Sarah was propelled forcibly upwards with surprising speed and not a few gropes that she suspected were not entirely accidental. And then she jerked sideways, as though by an invisible cord.

Or a leash, she'd think later.

When Sarah emerged from what she could only describe as a reverse birth, it was straight back into the hall and right into the arms of a rather amused looking Goblin King.

"Going somewhere?"

"You have got to be kidding me," she groaned.

"Duties await," he tsked and then directed a rather pointed look at a cowering Didymus who wouldn't quite meet Sarah eyes.

Sarah pushed off him. "I was going somewhere actually. Out of here. Right now in fact."

To her surprise and what should have been much more suspicion, he inclined his head. "As you wish. But maybe try the door."

The door had since reappeared. Frowning, she opened it.

And then immediately shut it again, pressing her back against it for extra measure.

If getting married in front of a bunch of otherworldly and preternaturally beautiful guests was mortifying, realizing that what must be the entire Goblin citizenry was waiting outside to congratulate them was worse. In the brief second she'd popped her head out of the door, there had been confused silence and then, almost in unison, a great cacophony of hoots, hollers, and cheers of jubilation. Chickens were being released on cue like doves – although not released so much as tossed, which resulted in a rather short-lived flurry of feathers and then panicked descents punctuated by frantic clucking. The Fierys, obviously in attendance, had begun to throw body parts like confetti. Sarah felt the thud against the door behind her as an errant head narrowly missed her.

The day, it would seem, was getting worse.

So much for a hasty and secret escape before anyone knew.

Jareth was trying – not very hard, mind – to contain laughter. At her expense. Sarah decided in that moment she'd kill him first and get Hoggle later.

Mariticide and regicide for the price of one.

The inner guests had begun to congregate, obviously ready to begin the wedding procession and start whatever debauched revelry an Underground wedding entailed.

"I am NOT going out there."

"Come, come, Sarah. Since when are you such a coward?"

"Sorry to disappoint." Her voice turned sweet. "I'm sure we could arrange an annulment."

He smiled beatifically at her.

And then the door opened behind her the other way.

Worse than being thrust into a marriage she didn't want, forcibly leashed with some type of magic fuckery, and then groped by "helping" hands, was being spilled unceremoniously onto her bum in front of all the denizens of the Labyrinth while the Goblin King preened regally beside her.

"All hail the Goblin King Jareth!"

Jareth waved a gloved hand gracefully.

"All hail the Goblin Queen Sarah!"

Sarah rose unsteadily, rubbing her bruised posterior.

Jareth slipped an arm about her waist. She jabbed him sharply in the ribs to no avail. "Smile prettily, darling, less they eat you alive."

"Figure of speech?"

The Goblin King grinned again. "There are some factions here who haven't quite forgiven you, Precious."

"Including you?" she rounded on him. "Is that what this is all about?"

Whatever he'd been about to say was drowned out by galloping hoof beats. The most otherworldly carriage Sarah had ever seen pulled up to the steps below them. The carriage itself was of highly polished dark wood, with finely wrought details and carved to look harrowing wings. The interior was lined in dark, intricately cut leather. It reminded her of his armour the first time she'd ever seen him. More impressive yet were the steeds. Sarah could only describe them as some unholy mix of dragon and war horse. Their ribs were prominent, their heads all sharp angles and hard lines like a dragon's. Their breath came out in steaming gusts suggesting smoke, and their eyes were obsidian black, almost obscured by thick, glossy manes. They shuffled impatiently, great hooves stamping while their wings – leathery like a bat's - stretched and flexed impressively. It looked like something Hades would have driven to steal Persephone.

Sarah's palm began to itch. Perhaps not far off.

Jareth took her momentary stillness to clasp her hand and whisk her into the carriage before she could protest. She imagined she made a rather ungainly site, tripping over her feet as she was mostly dumped onto a seat. Not to mention underdressed compared to almost everyone else, especially the groom. She stood, intending to jump right back out of the carriage and make another break for it, when the Goblin King whistled a command. The winged-beasts immediately surged forward, crowd parting both in deference and a sense of self-preservation.

Unprepared for the jolt of forward momentum, Sarah ended up in the Goblin King's lap. His arms settled heavily around her waist. There more hoots and hollers, now closer to catcalls and whistles, from the mixed crowd – fey and Goblin alike. As the carriage set an ungodly pace towards the castle, an untrained eye might have thought they looked the picture of romance.

A more discerning eye would have noticed that the groom appeared rather more smug than smitten, a half-smile bowing his lips as he calmly ignored the struggles of the blushing bride in his lap. And the bride herself was not so much blushing as turning red from her futile efforts while very loudly swearing to chop off his royal balls if he didn't let her go.

A waving goblin sniffed, wiping its eyes, and then nose, on his companion's shirt as they drove out of sight. "I do loves a good wedding."

* * *

**AN:** My work computer's search history now includes "what's it called when you kill your husband?" Mariticide. That's what it's called.

I can't believe the response to this fic so far. You guys are da best! I had a blast writing this chapter and I've already jumped ahead and written some future scenes I've got planned. Bring on the crack! And smut because I will never miss an opportunity to make these two smush (after much UST and cock-blocking). Next up – the reception!

In the meantime I DID keep my promise to update Tanglewood. Finally.


	3. The Bath

"Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society."

**Mark Twain**

* * *

A combination of factors kept Sarah momentarily silent.

One, the carriage was flying at a breakneck pace. Two, the shock of how one wrong turn could result in a whiplash marriage was finally settling in. Three, she was seated ON the Goblin King's lap.

The Goblin King who was now her husband.

Even Alice couldn't have believed in such animpossible thing.

Though her eyes were glued to the road ahead, she still felt the smile behind her.

"Do you always get off on being this insufferable?"

His breath fanned warmly on her neck when he laughed. "I 'get off' on my many things, Sarah."

She froze.

"Oh, don't stop on my account."

"How about _you_ stop enjoying this?"

"Then," this time his words teased the shell of her ear instead, "you'd have to stop squirming."

"Kindly let me go." She was pretty sure her attempt at sounding 'calm' and 'nice' was somewhat negated by the clenched teeth.

Surprisingly, he finally did.

And entirely without warning. So that in her strain to break his hold she ended up catapulting herself into the adjacent seat.

Righting herself with a scowl, she quickly discovered sitting beside him was really no better. His thigh, distractingly warm and firm, was pressed against hers thanks to the confines of the seat. And now, no longer quite so flustered, she had time to recognize much to her disdain just how good he smelled. And how impeccably dressed he was. Though she supposed irritably that when one _intentionally_ got married, as opposed to tripping into it, one took care with one's appearance.

_Married._

_To the Goblin King._

She really needed a drink. And time to regroup. Form a strategy.

The castle, in all its goblin glory, crested over the horizon. It was exactly as she remembered it – twisted spires and impossible angles. There was a certain irony in dreading their swift approach when once she'd been so desperate to find it. When she was a little girl she'd dreamt of living in a castle. Married to royalty. Childhood her really should have been more specific.

The sunset _was_ rather spectacular, she owned. The last time she'd been in the Underground there'd been no time to appreciate its beauty. Outside the sprawling Labyrinth, rather than the wasteland Sarah remembered, they instead passed breathtaking gardens. Within them were topiary trees cut into the most imaginative of beasts. The carriage took yet another bend and then well-trimmed trees lined the road so that it almost looked like they were heading to an English estate in some Jane Austen novel.

Had it not been for the horses-cum-dragons.

Or the twisted Labyrinth and castle just beyond.

Or the fact that Mr. Darcy was the Goblin King.

"How are you enjoying my lands?"

Sarah started at the question. It was asked so nonchalantly; like he was just politely wondering how she liked her visit.

"It's…" she trailed off and rounded on him. "This is insane, you know?"

He gave her a long lazy look. "Indeed. Imagine my surprise to find the former champion of the Labyrinth vying for my hand in marriage."

"We both know that's not what happened. This is entirely _your_ fault."

"So you keep saying. And yet, do note, Sarah, I didn't interrupt _your_ wedding uninvited."

She didn't care for the sudden glint in his eye and pretended to find her nail beds interesting.

"Is that it? The cause of all these maidenly protestations. Is your pride wounded that _I_ never came after _you_? That I never confessed undying love? Or perhaps… perhaps that I didn't concoct some elaborate plan to trick you back here? Is that what you wanted?"

Sarah frowned, a betraying tick in her jaw. "I only came here to get my ring back." Only a partial lie. "I traded it, for what turned out to be rather useless information, and I want it back. That's all."

"Yes. You must be impatient to have it back," he grinned, "after ten years of doing without. Until today."

"It's not the first time I've been back."

"Then it sounds like you were the one who couldn't stay away."

Realizing she'd been cornered, Sarah lapsed back into mulish silence. How could she explain that it had started about a few months ago? That she'd, entirely on an innocent and largely nostalgic whim, reached out to Hoggle through her old mirror, and then was both stunned and relieved when he'd answered. Anything she said would betray Hoggle. Not that he didn't deserve it, considering. But after they'd been so careful to stay off the radar, she didn't relish implicating herself further.

Jareth reached out and closed her mouth with one finger. "Don't think I wasn't aware every time you set foot here, Sarah."

She was still digesting his comment when they arrived at the Labyrinth's gates. Ceremonial guards flanked them and as the carriage approached, they flung the doors open and stood to attention. Once inside, rather than the twists and turns which had nearly foiled her last time, there was instead a direct path to the castle littered in rose petals. They too were a horrid shade of green.

Sarah was still considering throwing herself - or preferably _him_ \- under the wheels of the carriage when they entered the confines of the Goblin City. The inclination was all the more tempting when Sarah realized that even more inhabitants were lined up to cheer their arrival. Every goblin in existence.

More chickens flew through the air haphazardly. So did a few goblins.

The Goblin King looked entirely in his element, magnanimously accepting the effusive praise with a sanctimonius grin here and a nauseatingly pretentious nod there. Sarah felt sick. More literally so when she realized the sudden crunching sounds were the 'horses' snagging a few of the flying fowl mid-air and chomping on them like tossed carrots.

And then it got worse.

"You have got to be kidding me!"

There in the middle of the square, just beyond the throngs, was a sort of monument. Cast in burnished metal, it was clearly meant to commemorate the sacking of the Goblin city. Complete with an unmistakable rendition of herself. Unmistakable but not in the least flattering. Her nose was nowhere near that large. Nor were her eyes so close together. And nor had she ever bowed down to the Goblin King. The monument, however, showed a towering Jareth standing tall, arms extended benevolently in a way Sarah was fairly certain he had never done in his life, while the Sarah figure knelt at his feet, cowering and clearly humbled by defeat. A few Goblins were shown genuflecting in thanks to their saviour monarch.

To add insult to injury, just then one of the 'flying' chickens emptied its bowels on her likeness's head.

"You don't like it?"

Sarah snorted rudely.

"I rather think they captured my likeness quite well."

"Oh?" she asked, her voice deceptively sweet. "My recollection was more that you offered me everything and then still lost everything in the end."

"Look at you," he replied blandly. "Already sounding like a wife."

The carriage pulled up to the stone steps and Jareth stood, immaculate as ever whilst Sarah plucked feathers and possibly viscera from her hair. He extended a hands towards her. She immediately crossed her arms defensively and ignored him.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"Come, come, Sarah. What is this childish behaviour all about?"

"Childish? Are you serious?" Another snort. "I'm staying right here. You go on ahead."

"_Darling_," he chided. "This is really no way to start married life."

"I perfectly agree. Let's call it off."

"What's said is said."

"Aha! I never actually said anything! No I dos. Nothing. If I _said_ anything it was no. No, no, no, no," she finger counted, "and what was it? NO."

Jareth calmly reached out and plucked a feather from her hair. Her rage spiked even further.

"Let me make this perfectly clear." She punctuated each word with a finger jab. "I reject this marriage. I reject you. And there's no way in hell I'm walking into that castle."

"On that final note we can agree. Traditions should always be respected."

Before Sarah could do more than look confused, he'd snared her arm and used it to toss her over his shoulder like a rag doll.

While she knew she was on the slim side, he did it without so much as a grunt of effort. Her world turned upside down in an instant and she found herself staring down at his rather firm looking arse.

A hand landed heavily across her thighs. "The queen and I offer our thanks!"

"Like hell," she squeaked.

"Let the celebrations begin! And," Jareth allowed for dramatic pause, "the very best Goblin ale from my personal cellar will freely flow until the last goblin standing."

The hordes went wild. Wild enough that it drowned out Sarah's creative and rather vulgar invectives demanding he put her down immediately.

Unsurprising to anyone, he didn't.

Ascending the stairs, Sarah was now able to see the goblins cheering as their king manhandled her like a sack of potatoes into the castle. From her vantage she was also privy to the fact that one of the goblins had taken it upon themselves to use the chicken shit to paint a veil on her statue's head. She added that fellow to her list. Right below Jareth and Hoggle and the priest.

Just over the threshold, Jareth let her down…

… in a slow inexorable slide down his body; an arm curling around her waist to hold her in place.

She aimed an elbow. "That was totally mortifying!"

He dodged. "That was tradition. You did say you wouldn't walk. Aren't brides carried over the threshold above ground too?"

"Some. Yes. _Willing ones._ But not like that. Bridal style." Sarah mimed with her arms.

"Then it seems our traditions differ more than I thought. Although there's some overlap."

"Doubtful."

And then he kissed her.

The kiss that didn't happen at the church.

The kiss she wasn't expecting so that her mouth was still open ever so slightly.

The kiss in front of all the goblins.

Distantly she thought she heard applause. And cat calls. And whistles. She might have wondered if it was her inner goddess, but knowing as she did that such a thing does _not_ exist and was patently stupid, she instead recognized that it was all the inhabitants of the Labyrinth watching the Goblin King kiss her.

He'd dipped her back so dramatically that for a moment she was weightless. Her fists curled into the lapels of his coat out of self-preservation. His lips were firm and soft against hers, moving with confidence despite her lack of participation. His tongue teased the edge of her mouth, and then dipped in to taste her briefly, taking advantage of her stunned gasp of surprise.

Of course he broke the kiss before her sanity returned and she could bite him. Which she definitely tried.

Jareth acknowledged the crowds once more, a sort of indolent, self-satisfied conquering grin on his face that made Sarah want to smack it off, and then vanished them both.

Sarah reappeared alone in what turned out to be some type of lavishly appointed bathroom.

Only the Goblin King could have facilities so completely over the top. It looked like some type of hedonistic roman bathhouse. There was a sunken tub in the centre of the room that was approximately the same size as the swimming pool at Sarah's condo. The lining of it appeared to be cut from dark lapis – golden veins running through it. The floor was tiled in some type of iridescent crystal with more accents of lapis. The walls were arched and ornately carved, with lush couches set into the alcoves. Above them were mosaics of what Sarah could only suppose were sea nymphs frolicking… or maybe strippers doing the kinds of things you had to tip generously to see. The tall arched windows let in an abundance of diffused light so that everything glowed warmly.

Her solitariness lasted only so long.

A door, recessed and almost entirely obscured by gauzy fabrics, flew open and a succession of breathtakingly beautiful fey women glided in dressed in white Grecian style gowns. Behind them came another succession of goblin women carrying an assortment of vials and bottles and cloths and tools

Without saying a word of greeting, they proceeded to maul Sarah. Maul is the only way she could describe it. Hands pulled at her shirt and pants, she lost a shoe before she even knew what had happened. It took her a moment to realize they were trying to undress and not kill her. That's when the slapping really started.

"What are you doing?!" Slap. "Stop that!" Another.

She felt her fly opened. As she tried to redo it, her shirt was unbuttoned in lightning speed.

There was a collective breath and the hands stilled for a moment. One of the women canted her head and then sharply poked Sarah in the breast.

"Hey!" It took her a moment to realize they were arrested by her bra. Apparently human undergarments were quite different from theirs.

Sarah clutched the folds of her shirt closed protectively. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Attending the queen of course," replied a lilting voice - far too sweetly to have come from the one that just tried for second base.

"By 'attending' do you mean forcibly stripping? And I'm _not_ the queen."

Glances were exchanged and then another one reached out and patted Sarah on the arm patronizingly. "It's normal to be a bit confused and overwhelmed on your wedding day, your majesty."

Sarah removed the hand. "Please stop calling me that." She then slapped another hand. "And please stop trying to get into my pants!"

"But you need to bathe. Do mortals normally bathe in their clothes?" More exchanged glances. "Is that why you are all so disgusting?"

The earnestness with which it was asked made it still all the more. "No," Sarah replied defensively. "But neither do we need assistance to get undressed."

She was met with light laughter and then expectant stares.

"And neither do we have an audience while getting undressed."

"Is it because your bodies are so hideous you hide them in shame?" Even worse this time the question was asked by a goblin.

A vein began throbbing on Sarah's forehead. "I… what… no! We are just fully capable of taking a bath alone."

More annoying bell-like laughter. "So are royalty. But why should they? His majesty enjoys the assistance."

"Oh I bet he does!" Sarah snorted. "Thank you, but I don't require a bath at this time." That wasn't entirely true. It was hard not to notice that she still had chicken feathers in her hair. Or that she was ever so slightly covered in dried sweat, either from her time exploring with Hoggle, or from nerves since she'd opened the door the wrong way. It was also hard not to notice that half the attendants were immaculately clean and perfumed by comparison.

"But you can't put on your gown…" the fey lady trailed off, "looking and smelling like that,"

"Wait, what? What gown?"

"For the wedding feast of course? His majesty said you'd want to change out of… of those…" again there was a telling pause, "clothes."

"A feast. Of course!" Sarah relaxed marginally.

A few more exchanged glances. "Naturally What did you think we were bathing you for?"

"Well… nothing. Nothing."

"Oh!" exclaimed the one who had poked her in the boob. "You thought we were bathing you for the wedding night!" There were collective murmurs of understanding. "That's not until much later. Unless you wanted to skip the feast go straight to that?" She didn't wait for an answer and motioned to one of the goblins. "Go and inform his majesty that the queen requires consummation of the marriage immediately."

Sarah dove for the goblin. "No, no, no, no! Feast is good."

The fey considered her doubtfully.

"I _am_ very hungry. For food," she added quickly when it looked like they still might go and collect their king. When the attempt at undressing resumed, Sarah gave a withering sigh. "I can really do this myself. I'm sure you have other places to be."

"We were clearly instructed not to leave you alone. I believe his majesty's exact words were, 'I will throw the lot of you into bog of eternal stench if you let her out of your sight.'"

There were graceful nods of agreement.

"He also said she was 'a troublemaking little termagant and not to be trusted,'" added another helpfully. She curtsied like it might soften the blow.

"We can get the king to undress you if you prefer," offered the boob poker.

Sarah didn't like the calculating look in her eye. "That won't be necessary!"

They took that as permission and had her stripped to nothing in minutes. She was then summarily crowded her down the steps into the water. The pool was blessedly warm and had she not been trying to shield what was left of her modesty and retain the shreds of dignity, it might have been heaven.

"You're not really hideous at all," remarked a voice right behind her.

Sarah squealed and turned. Several of the women had followed her in, white – now largely transparent - dresses and all.

She was pretty sure she'd seen the start of a similar movie on Cinemax.

Before she could protest she was being doused in all manner of lotions and creams and sweet-smelling soaps. Hands were everywhere. She'd had less invasive physicals. And less enthusiastic dates.

Then came the forcible dunking. Her reflex was to struggle until she let herself relax, deciding that drowning would actually be an improvement.

To no avail, however, as they had her back up for more rubbing and pruning and ministrations she imagined most men would kill to watch.

She was bustled back out of the pool just as perfunctorily; a white robe wrapped around her which she clutched closed in a vice-like grip. Then she was pushed down onto a stool with surprising force considering their waif-like appearances

Someone started dragging a comb through her hair, while another began rubbing yet more creams into every inch of exposed skin. Someone else began to dab at Sarah's face with pots of colour. The whole experience wasn't exactly unpleasant, but it was all a little too much. Too much touching, too much fussing… too much of a concession she was in no way willing to make.

"I still object to this marriage," she announced to no one in particular.

And then a hand pressed a glass of something sparkling and decidedly alcoholic into hers. For the first time, Sarah allowed a sincere 'thank you' and downed it without really tasting a drop. She didn't even care about the ramifications of eating or drinking in the Underground. She'd already bitten a tainted peach and returned all in one piece she reasoned. Her glass was kept refilled without question or comment.

The female goblins, who'd been divested of their tonics and potions, returned with bundles of various coloured cloths. As they passed them over to the taller women, Sarah realized they were dresses. Gowns, really, in exquisite shades… and not one of them chartreuse.

It was a good thing Sarah, albeit reluctantly, found them all gorgeous because as it turned out she wasn't being given a choice. Add that to the t_heme of the day. _ One of the fey considered each in turn, head canting in thought while occasionally glancing back at Sarah appraisingly.

Several were in shades of white or nude and despite a few ethereal touches would have passed for an aboveground couture wedding gown. One had distinctive feathers arching off the bodice – feathers Sarah thought looked suspiciously familiar. Another could have been from a medieval fantasy with accents of cornflower blue. Another had delicate knot work on the bodice that made Sarah's hands itch in memory of the handfasting. There were appliqués of spun gold detailing on yet another, and a dropped shoulder gown that reminded Sarah of a more refined version of her sugar spun ball gown. There were long, flowing confections in lovely shades of peach – the colour not lost on her - and soft blushing pinks and romantic roses. Another was a deep rich green in a heavier lush fabric that would no doubt make her eyes shine.

There were gowns that would have befitted a fairy queen, in shades of lilac, fern, and crimson… and dresses of darkest black meant to seduce, cut in such a way to deliberately show hints of skin and décolletage, or give the illusion of such with nude underlays. Some looked like Goblin armour in their artistry. Another gown in an arresting midnight blue was fitted with a cape of shimmering stars. If some of the others screamed fairy queen, it screamed _his_ queen. The fey woman paused on it before finally nodding at another.

The chosen gown looked to be made of silver moonlight. The entire front was elaborately embroidered in ornate patterns. Sarah was pulled to her feet, her robe removed and the gown dropped over her head in a heartbeat. Apparently undergarments were unheard of in the Underground.

The cut was otherwise modest compared to some of the others; just skimming her shoulders and collarbones, then and skimming down to her hips in a slim fit before flaring away gently. The arms were long and likewise fitted. It wasn't until Sarah saw herself in the tall mirror that she realized why they'd not put anything underneath. In the right light the unembroidered parts of the silvery fabric were ever so slightly translucent. Not as daring as some of the others, instead hinting where the others had suggested. The dress was almost completely backless until they added a long shimmering veil, wrought in the same silvery transparent fabric and fine embroidery. It was attached by two narrow point to either end of a half-silver circlet encrusted in sparkling crystals. When they'd fitted it to the back of Sarah's hair - left long with only the sides gently swept back - she could see that the veil's dip showcased her now shining hair and bare shoulder blades. It swept to the ground in an impressive train. Her makeup was light and tasteful, but they'd shaded her eyes with charcoal so the green of her irises popped. A light dusting of a shimmery powder made her cheekbones glint.

Sarah stared at her appearance for a long moment, roiling emotions conflicted. On the one hand she looked ethereal. Otherworldly. Regal in a way she'd never seen before.

On the other hand she rejected everything about this mess and had every intention of being the 'troublemaking little termagant' he'd warned about. The sooner she found a way out of it the better and with as much damage done as possible. Last time she'd destroyed a city. This time the possibilities for destruction were endless. Sarah turned slightly, unconsciously admiring herself again. If she managed to leave with some of the dresses, she'd consider it due compensation for her troubles.

The fey nodded to themselves as though pleased, inclined their heads with deference they'd not shown beforehand, and then left without another word.

One of the goblins removed the flute from Sarah's hand and pressed a crystal into it before Sarah could bemoan the removal of the liquid courage. With a pop she reappeared outside a set of ornate doors. As though on cue, they opened inwardly to reveal the Goblin King. He'd apparently changed as well and was looking annoyingly refreshed and resplendent in shaded of black and silver.

Jareth took a long moment to take in her new appearance. His eyes raked down her form, lingering in spots she thought she ought to hit him for, before returning to her face – which was somehow worse. There was the trace of a smile dancing on his lips and his eyes glittered in a way she thought might deserve a slap too. Sarah did her best to look annoyed and unimpressed.

"This means nothing." Her words lilted in a way that suggested she'd had too much champagne. It fueled her ire. "I want a divorce."

Jareth didn't even blink. "There's no such thing as divorce here. Thankfully, as you do look ravishing, Sarah." And then his eyes did that thing again and his lips curled into the inception of a smirk. "Speaking of ravishing… my goblins tell me you wanted to skip the feast and head straight to the bedding. I had no idea you were so… enthusiastic."

With mounting horror, Sarah realized that one of the other goblin attendants must have made it out. Her eyes narrowed dangerously, the liquid courage turning into liquid boldness. "You were misinformed. And on that note, let me ensure there are no further misunderstandings. You may have tripped me into this," she twirled a finger when she couldn't think of an appropriate invective, "but I certainly have no intention of ever consummating anything."

"And here I thought we were being clear," he remarked dryly.

"Was that not clear enough?" Later she'd blame everything on his perennially infuriating smirk and the liberal refilling of her glass. "I meant in no uncertain terms will I ever fuck you."

Jareth didn't so much as flinch at her crassness, though his lips twitched slightly before he pushed the door open wider to reveal what was behind him. "Duly noted. Allow me to introduce you to my family, Sarah."

* * *

**AN:** I lied about this chapter being the reception. What did you expect from someone who says things like "no, it won't take me over 4 years to finish a story"… and "no, I won't wait six months to update again"… so, yah, wedding feast next chapter. LFFL was very helpful in supplying wedding dress possibilities – more than 50 comments later and I say it's a popular consideration. And we may or may not have discussed bathtubs at one point. Important stuff.

I do promise Sarah will be able to hold her own soon and get an opportunity for some overdue pay back.

Someone asked me how often/ quickly I'll be updating this. I won't say a timeframe as whenever I give myself a schedule I jinx myself. We'll leave it at fairly often (for me). Hopefully once a week or every two weeks? Definitely quicker than Tanglewood (I know, low bar). The chapters will stay shorter though – comparatively (also asked). They are over 2,000 words (min) but I wouldn't expect them to go more than 5,000. This one is the longest yet. It means I can get them out faster and I feel like they better suit these shorter, lighter fare stories.

Have you seen Endgame yet? *bites knuckles* Happy Mother's Day to those who celebrated yesterday! I had a perfectly lovely day


	4. The Family

"I think the family is the place where the most ridiculous and least respectable things in the world go on."

**Ugo Betti**

* * *

Sarah called his bluff and looked over the Goblin King's shoulder. She instantly paled.

All of the attendants' makeup efforts were undone in an instant. In fact, it was fair to say she'd never looked more corpse like. Of course if looks could kill, the one she shot Jareth meant he'd be joining her.

Her stomach did an uncomfortable kind of flip and she considered, very seriously, bending over and emptying its contents onto the king's polished boots.

As though aware of the danger he took a half-step back and to the side, and cupped her elbow smoothly. "May I present _my_ bride and _my_ queen, Sarah Williams."

She did not particularly care for the inflection he placed on '_my'_, one of which seemed entirely redundant and included for the sole purpose of rubbing it in. She did vaguely register that apparently she got to keep her last time. Not so for her dignity.

"Well, bring her forward, boy. Don't lurk in the shadows like some common goblin!" The imperious command made Sarah start. More so when she realized the boy in question referred to the Goblin King.

He sighed, sort of a pent up long-suffering sort that made Sarah feel marginally better than he might not escape unscathed either.

The voice's owner turned out to be a very stately looking fey woman who wouldn't entirely be out of place in an Austen novel as a Dowager Duchess. Her dark gown was long and fitted up to her slender neck. It looked better suited to a Gothic funeral. She sat, ramrod straight, with her hands perched delicately upon the head of an ornate cane-like walking stick. Her long hair was silvery and thick, and roped around her head in an impressive up-do. Her angular face was largely ageless and yet… not. The very air about her suggested someone very old indeed. Her eyes were a vibrant shade of blue and they were boring a hole right into Sarah's head. As was the raven perched upon her shoulder.

Those keen eyes swept up Sarah and down and then repeated the process before thin lips, very much like Jareth's, pursed. "Hmm," she said non-committally.

"Sarah, may I present my _Great_ Aunt Morrigan." He places emphasis on the great. Whether out of deference or self-preservation, it wasn't clear.

There was a stilted silence.

Sarah wasn't sure if she was supposed to curtsy or bow or sacrifice a chicken, but it seemed something was expected of her. She finally held out a hand. "How do you do?"

Great Aunt Morrigan looked at the proffered hand and then back up at Sarah with a raised brow that suggested Sarah should have tried the chicken. "Hmmm."

Nonetheless she pressed a fine cup of tea into Sarah's hand. Sarah accepted it gratefully, the wine still buzzing in her head. She stopped short before taking a sip. The cup looked like it was filled with glitter. Sarah jiggled the cup and the contents sparkled ominously.

"Something the matter?" Morrigan watched her haughtily.

She was spared a response when she felt a hand tug at her dress, and glanced down into the face of a cherubic looking boy. He was tow-headed and fresh-faced, with arched brows and pointed ears that made him look almost Elfish. Perhaps 10 or 12 in human years, she nearly remarked that she had a brother around his age, but looks were often deceiving and he may have been a hundred for all Sarah knew. Until that moment she'd been apt to believe the fey just spawned fully-formed from the depths of hell to torment her.

"Erm, hello," she said politely.

"You're pretty. Is it true you're a mortal? I thought they were supposed to be rather revolting."

"Yes, that does seem to be a common misconception here."

"So you're dying then? Right now?" He asked it in such an infectious, excited way, Sarah almost felt bad for not dropping dead on the spot.

"Um, no… unless I have a fatal disease I'm not aware of."

His eyes widened in delight. "Do you?"

"That's enough, Rook."

The boy pouted at the Goblin King. "But I've never met anyone dying before. It might have been my only chance to see it happen."

Sarah couldn't decide if she should be insulted or amused. The first friendly face and he was morbidly fixated upon her death. "I suppose you're right that mortals are all dying technically," she offered prosaically. "How about I invite you to my deathbed then? You have a standing invitation to watch."

His eyes widened. "Really? When?"

"Well, hopefully not for a long time," she laughed, only a little disturbed by his eagerness "You might have to wait 80 or so years."

Rather than look put out, he beamed. "That's not long at all!"

Sarah's smile wobbled slightly. Another dismissive wave from the Goblin King and the boy retreated.

"A cousin," Jareth offered.

"Charming," Sarah returned, and managed to stealthily ditch her tea untouched.

The next person to be introduced was a breathtaking woman. She too had long silvery hair, but hers didn't suggest age. And in opposition to the Great Aunt, the dressmakers clearly ran out of fabric when they'd crafted hers. A few bits of silk strands gave the impression she was covered in glittering sea foam. She lounged on a low settee, her long legs stretched out artfully. She gave a small half-smile to Sarah, grey eyes gleaming beneath very long lashes.

"Well, aren't you an absolute _treat_?" Her voice had a breathy quality that instantly made Sarah think of sex. In fact, Sarah felt a flutter of something unexpected in response, her thighs quivering. It was a reaction she'd never had to a woman before, aside from maybe that one experimental night in college.

As though gauging her reaction, the fey woman's grin widened. Her teeth were alarmingly pointed.

"Reign it back, Calli," Jareth chided, although he too seemed to be studying Sarah's subtle response with calculated interest. "From the… ah, Greek side of the family," he added to her as though that explained everything.

Sarah's brow furrowed but she was being ferried onto the next person like a shiny new bauble.

The faces that greeted her fell onto the other side of the coin. There were no smiles, no hints of interest, and not a trace of warmth in the pair that lounged by the window. The couple, or at least they appeared to be bonded, regarded Sarah with cool disdain. As with the others they were impeccably dressed, this time in almost garish brocade. The woman had startling red hair and a buxom figure compared to most fey, while the man had auburn hair coifed into a sort of foppish style no doubt meant to look breezy. Sarah decided he resembled a frizzy badger. Neither offered anything by way of greeting.

The Goblin King laughed outright at their expressions. "Don't mind Boudicca and Lugh. They hoped for a more advantageous match," he whispered loud enough for them to hear. "I'm afraid they aren't overly fond of the bride switch you pulled."

It was the red-haired woman's turn to laugh – a distinct coquettish sound that made Sarah bristle in memory. She could suddenly picture her with a horned mask, dress different but just as lavish. "You were there!" The ballroom. So many years ago.

Catching her meaning, the woman's smile twisted. "The girl who ate the peach. I knew you'd be trouble then. I warned him to keep his distance. Little did I know you'd prove this meddlesome. I'd applaud your strategy, netting him as you did, but make no mistake – this is far from over."

"I did not 'net' him," Sarah snapped back. "I tripped over a doorstep and it's been downhill since. If I could return him I would."

"Do stop, dearest, you're making me blush," Jareth admonished dryly.

"Don't mind, Bou, she'd rather had her heart set on the match. It's not everyday we're offered a Sidhe princess," Lugh's eyes flicked over her," and instead ended up with you."

Sarah thought of the poor woman she'd inadvertently stabbed. Or rather who had inadvertently stabbed herself while trying to stab Sarah. A princess. She glanced around the room at her new in-laws. Boy had she lucked out by getting knifed instead.

Sarah was no longer feeling charitable. She'd stab herself right then if she could get out of it. She hoped that was conveyed in her expression. "It was an accident."

"So was the fall of Rome and look where you all are now." His tone suggested nowhere good.

"What is taking so long?" The sound of a staff hitting the floor echoed sharply. "Hurry up and introduce the mortal so we may eat." Morrigan punctuated it with another knock of her cane.

"Mortal?" asked an ancient, rather sleepy sounding voice. "I haven't had a good mortal for centuries. Lovely roasted with a wild blueberry glaze." A wet smacking sound followed. The owner was the oldest living thing Sarah had ever seen. He'd gone unnoticed before, having thought him a pile of mismatched throw pillows in the corner. She didn't even know fey could look old. His skin was so white it was translucent and papery thin. The 'pillows' turned out to a set of archaic robes, mottled with dust. A long, ornate pip dangled from his lips, poking out from an equally impressively long beard.

"Not eat, Dag, marry. Jareth m-a-r-r-i-e-d a mortal," Morrigan huffed impatiently.

"Marry?" the wizened voice sounded confused and not a little appalled, as though marriage was far more egregious than cannibalization. "In my day, we ate them like nature intended. Marry? Hmrph. Younglings today."

"Don't mind grandfather," Jareth remarked calmly. "He lost his powers aeons ago, and when his magic came back it came back… well, a little wilder. He's forgotten how to appear young. Or he doesn't care."

"But he remembers mortals taste good with wild blueberry sauce?" Sarah asked pointedly.

"Everything tastes good with wild blueberry sauce, Sarah." She couldn't decide from his grin if he was being serious or not.

The next couple introduced resembled a pair of dominoes. Their outfits were matching patterns of white and black. The lady, resplendent in crisp white, regarded Sarah with polite disinterest. The lord, garbed in matching black, flanked her gravely. Rook quickly insinuated himself between them and Sarah gleaned they were his parents almost at the same time she realized they reminded her of chess pieces. The kind she used to make marry one another as a child.

After exchanging a few words, and after receiving a reminder from Rook to let him watch her die in a few decades, Jareth pressed Sarah onward with a hand splayed against her lower. Through the thin, semi-sheer material of the dress she could feel the heat of his palm and couldn't stop a small shiver.

"Theirs was the most scandalous marriage. The court gossip lasted for centuries." His breath fanned warmly on the shell of her ear as he whispered conspiratorially. "Until ours of course."

"Save it for the bedroom, if you weren't going to give us a show during the ceremony, don't bother teasing us now." Sarah felt Jareth stiffen, as though he'd not intended to acknowledge the speaker's existence at all.

The final figure was laid out almost as indolently as Calliope had been. He was long-legged, with muscular thighs displayed to advantage by his tight pants. His shirt was artfully open, revealing a toned chest lightly tanned by the sun. One hand rested on the head of a large wolf-hound like beast. His face was similar to Jareth's in markings, and just as handsome Sarah noticed reluctantly. His hair, by comparison, was dark and fell in soft glossy waves around a sharp jaw. His eyes were a vivid green and they were currently full of amusement.

Jareth's own narrowed. "Don't you have something to hunt or maim, Cern?"

Cern's lips, wide and generous, bowed into a smile. "And miss your wedding day? Especially after that performance? I'll kill something later." He held out a hand in greeting, the other still stroking the head of the animal in a way that could only be called suggestive. Sarah reached for it by rote and barely stifled a yelp when his long fingers closed round hers, tugging her forward until she stood between his splayed knees. She felt Jareth stiffen further at her side.

"What do we have here," he drawled, eyes sweeping over every inch on display. "You and I might agree for a change, Calli. Definitely a snack."

Sarah tugged backwards, her eyes immediately flying to the snoring Dagda and his penchant for blueberry sauce.

A warm, earthy chuckle answered. "My tastes run in different directions. Welcome to the family, _cousin_." He pressed an open mouthed kiss to Sarah's wrist, his eyes trained on her face before sliding to Jareth's with calculated precision.

"Yet another cousin?" Sarah asked, brow rising along with her pulse.

"More distantly removed and about to be removed entirely if he doesn't remember his _manners._ Let's not repeat Lughnasadh."

Lugh whistled from across the room.

There was a warning in Jareth's low tone and whether he heeded it or not, Cern released her with a wink. Her freedom was short-lived as Jareth immediately slipped his hand around hers.

"To the feast then." The Goblin King's eyes remained trained warningly on his cousin. Polite family play time was clearly over.

"Why not skip straight to the bedding?" Cern ignored the look. "I would."

"You'd swive a goblin."

Sarah wasn't sure if she was relieved or insulted.

"I do suppose you have to go and make nice. Since you may have plunged us all into a bloody war to wet your," his eyes flickered to his great aunt, "…riding crop." For a change the censorious tone seemed to be directed entirely at Jareth. As though the wedding were his fault and not hers as everyone seemed to believe.

"You're unmarried, Cern, why don't you go wed and bed her. Make nice for all of us."

Cern sobered instantly. "Oh no, dearest cousin. That was your sacrificial pyre to roast yourself upon. Besides," he eyed Sarah, who was vainly trying to extricate herself from Jareth's death grip. "I prefer a challenge. Something that puts up a fight, so to speak."

"Boys." The cane wrapped again. "Behave yourselves or I will put you over my knee as I did ages ago." Sarah admitted to herself that she'd very much like to see that. "You look like two feral mongrels fighting over a bone." The look she directed Sarah implied a bone would have been an improvement.

"I'll take the scraps," purred a siren voice, as Calli rose languidly and obediently trailed the grand dame out of the room.

They all filed out in turn, Rook and his parents stopping to collect the doddering Dagda. "Yes, papa, we'll ask the kitchens if there's any. With blueberry sauce, yes."

Sarah pulled a face. "Don't be offended but I'm happy that's the extent of your family." She noted to herself that his parents had not been amongst them.

"Don't be disappointed. That's the extent of the family I deemed fit to meet you." The Goblin King rocked with silent laughter at her horrified expression.

* * *

The banquet was the most sumptuous thing she'd ever seen. If the ceremony had been over the top, the dinner was something else altogether. Candlelit chandeliers hung from great heights as though suspended by magic. They probably were. The banquet tables were long, covered in fine, layered linens and set with gleaming silver dishes and cut-crystal glasses. Huge silver candelabras dotted the tables, with all manner of beasts fashioned into their ornate bases. Unlike the garish arrangements in the church, the flowers on the table were dark burgundy roses whose petals looked like velvet. Crystals hung suspended in the air.

The room was full; lively with chatter and music, but everything ground to a halt when Sarah and Jareth crossed the threshold. Chairs scraped back as most of the guests rose. There was a collective silence and than a slow-building cheer that rose to deafening.

The exception were a few tables to the side of the room, many of the still-seated guests wearing a particularly lurid shade of green. It was not difficult to discern where their allegiances lay. The former bride in question glowered amongst them, looking patched up and none the worst for wear.

Sarah immediately tried to turn tail and leave again, but Jareth's arm snapped into place around her waist and after a brief struggle, he half-hauled her to their seats at the head table. "I'd suggest you not make more of a scene, Sarah. You're reputation can hardly handle it."

"My reputation? Embarrassed your 'bride' would rather run away?"

The Goblin King kicked out an ornate throne like chair and pressed her down into it. "Hardly." A lone finger brushed a strand of hair away from her ear. "It's tradition for the bride to struggle. Wouldn't be seemly for her to appear too eager to join another house. The more she fights the more she really wants the groom. I suppose I should thank you for going above and beyond really, but then you never did anything by halves, did you?"

Sarah looked up at him sharply, disbelief marring her brow. Then she considered the faces at the surrouding tables. A few looked faintly scandalized but perhaps not for the reasons she assumed. Others cast the pair dreamy looks, like it was the most romantic thing they'd ever seen.

Sarah reached for the wine.

Jareth offered a few words of welcome to the rapt crowd, mentioning the breaking of bread among friends as a sign of peace, a few comments about the loveliness of his bride which earned a snort both from Sarah and his ex-fiancée, and then clapped his hands. A parade of goblins, surprisingly well-dressed and behaved, paraded in carrying obscenely large trenchers of food. Sarah eyed the platters of meat suspiciously.

Much to her relief and discomfort, they were the only ones seated at the head table so she wasn't expected to make polite conversation. At all she decided, eying the Goblin King. His hair glowed in the candlelight in a very distracting way so she turned her attention back to the wine. She exhaled happily when she'd poured it into the low cup.

"Be still my heart. Was that a sound of contentment from my taciturn bride?"

Sarah ignored the goading. "No glitter."

"Naturally."

"There was glitter in the tea."

"Naturally."

Sarah shot him an annoyed look.

"Glitter has no place in alcohol, Sarah," he t'sked. "We're not savages."

She drained the cup in one go. He sighed, a trace of patient amusement in his expression.

"We're supposed to share that. It's the marriage cup." He nodded towards the two handles she'd entirely missed.

She set it down sharply. "I was thirsty."

He refilled it, picked it up, and then set his lips to the same place she'd placed hers. He drank deeply, watching her over the silver rim.

Though she did her best to ignore him, her mouth went decidedly dry. It was then that she noticed there was only one plate between them and no cutlery whatsoever.

Catching her focus, Jareth reached for one of the large platters and began selecting bits of meats, robust cheeses, fresh breads, and an assortment of ripe fruit. "For both of us." There was a touch of patronizing humour edging his tone, like he was warning a child to share.

"And they don't trust new couples with knives? Is this the kid's table?"

"Compared to several of the guests here, yes actually. And there have been incidents in the past that ended in bloodshed." She couldn't blame them.

She took another sip of wine, not noticing that she drank from his unfinished pour and missing the slight curve of satisfaction to his mouth. "Afraid I'll try to gut you?"

"After seeing what you did to my previous bride, consider me quaking." Sarah opened her mouth to protest. He popped a delicate sliver of fruit into it, stilling her tongue. "Oh, I know. It was all an _accident_. Save your teeth for the feast. Or at least for later. Perhaps I'll let you bite me until you feel better."

Sarah choked, wiping her mouth on a napkin. "Speaking of later-"

"The shared marriage cup, the shared marriage plate," he paused like he was going to savour saying the next, "the shared marriage bed. Prosperity in the trinity."

And there it was. She'd played nice long enough. Time to destroy a kingdom. Again. Her chair scraped back. "I'll stick with two, thanks. I'd hate to be greedy."

His hand landed heavily on her thigh before she could rise. "Running away so soon? Imagine the salacious gossip when I have to hunt you down and drag you back here kicking and screaming." His voice was light but Sarah couldn't tell if he was joking. She did notice the sudden hush fall across the room, all eyes on them like they were itching for her to do exactly that. Dinner and a show.

Reluctantly she sank back into her seat but glared at him mulishly. "Make no mistake, I'll find a way out of this. I've beaten you before, Goblin King. Let's just make it through this dinner." She grabbed a hunk of bread and stuffed it into his smug mouth before he could retort. "Quietly."

So naturally that's when the screaming started.

* * *

**Dun, Dun, Dun...**

**AN: **People who put glitter in their drinks and food are savages. You know who you are. Monsters. All of you.

Hope you enjoyed meeting *some* of Jareth's family:

Great Aunt Morrigan is totally modelled after Dame Maggie Smith in Downton Abby. But I mean, she may also be the Celtic goddess of death. Who knows!

Calliope is one of the Greek Sirens. Jareth's family tree is storied and sexy.

Boudicca is a famous flame-haired, Celtic warrior queen. Historically she was pretty damn cool. I also loved the red-haired woman in the ballroom so why not smush them into one.

Lugh is another Celtic god, and is linked with the harvest festival of Lughnasadh.

Rook is just a precocious kid because I have a soft spot for them (when done right) and I liked the name. His parents are one hundred percent born of a recent shipping discussion where I admitted that as a kid I shipped the black king with the white queen (before I knew what shipping was). My proper British poppa would teach me chess, only to have me turn around and stage a wedding on the board.

Dagda is like the ultimate Celtic god. He's the daddy god, a druid, and is pretty dang important in Celtic mythology.

Cern or Cernunnos is kind of a mash of Cernunnos and Herne the hunter – both horned gods in Celtic lore. He's the Celtic god of fertility, life, animals, wealth, and the underworld… and yes, I intend to use him like a god-damned foil for Jareth.

I had to coach soccer in the rain tonight. For an hour. Two to three olds playing soccer. Do you know how that age plays soccer? They don't. It's called run around and pick grass and ask for snacks ever 2.5 minutes. Pray for me.

Did I mention glitter in food and drink is wrong? Don't do glitter, kids.


	5. The Wedding Night

"Never refer to your wedding night as amateur hour."

**Phyllis Diller**

* * *

All chatter stopped and all eyes immediately searched for the source of the scream. Sarah half-expected someone to announce that it was Colonel Mustard in the Library with the candlestick. She immediately set down the communal cup and nudged it away. Clearly she'd had enough champagne.

She wasn't the only one.

And the screamer, in fact, turned out to be headed straight for her.

Unsurprisingly to at least half the guest list it was the rejected bride herself, not quite ready to give up the fight. She was a ball of exquisite fury wrapped in a fresh exquisitely lurid dress. And she had murder writ large across her forehead.

A good number of guests rose, not so much to try and stop her but rather in search of a better view. A few of the bride's family members made a half-hearted effort to restrain her but the bride didn't seem particularly concerned with sparing her family violence, anymore than she was keen to spare herself further embarrassment.

Sarah glanced at Jareth nervously, who merely appeared bored. At her expectant expression he slid the serving fork towards her.

"I am NOT going to stab her."

"Again," he amended patiently.

"She stabbed _herself_!"

"Then perhaps you can hope she'll trip again."

"Exactly! She tripped. I-"

As though on cue, down she indeed went again in an almost perfect re-enactment of the hall. No one who may have noticed the Lady Morrigan withdrawing her leg and adjusting her skirts a fraction of a second later dared call attention. The expression of imperious indifference on her face didn't as much as flicker.

The bride, righting herself with surprising agility, rose, turned towards the Grande dame accusingly, thought better of it, and continued the head table. Her carefully coiffed head snapped right and left, silencing snickers from the guests.

Her eyes, a particularly striking shade of indigo made all the more bright from drink, zeroed on the Goblin King. "I demand justice, as is my right."

Sarah immediately opened her mouth to offer to him back, but Jareth, ever one step ahead, shoved another sliver of fruit into it.

"Lady Rhiannon." He rose and offered a slight bow, with only a slight soupcon of mockery to the discerning eye. "How kind of you to come in all this haste to offer your felicitations personally."

"I most certainly do _not_ offer anything of the sort. I was doing _you_ a great service, Goblin King, by agreeing to such an unequal union. You've no concept of how much I've had to lower myself."

"Ah, but I do, dearest, to the very floor it seems. And that's today alone. I assure you her royal highness and I do not require that level of deference going forward."

Rhiannon's face turned apoplectic. It occurred to Sarah that she might not have to murder Jareth herself after all.

"You dare mock _me_?"

"No more that you dare play the fool at _my_ wedding feast with this little display." His voice was calm, deceptively light even, but Sarah recognized the thread of warning in it.

"What a farce," Rhiannon declared, clearly undaunted. "You can paint her, anoint her, and glue jewels to her tits for all I care; it's a mockery to parade a pathetic mortal through these hallowed halls and you know it."

"A 'pathetic mortal' who bested you."

Sarah had no idea what possessed her to say it.

The champagne played a part. It was like sticking a hand in the tiger's cage, and the collective gasps from the guests didn't help. But it also felt good.

Rhiannon's reaction was pure malice. Far more disturbing was the toe-curling smile Jareth directed her way, however.

"An oversight I mean to correct."

Sarah stood and spread her hands. "By all means, take have him back."

If anything Rhiannon looked even more venomous. "You dare insult me with a pittance?"

"No, but I-"

"And do you stand for this complete rejection of our traditions?"

"Not at all," Jareth replied with mock severity. "I assure you I plan to punish her most thoroughly later tonight for this insolence." Sarah couldn't entirely tell if he was joking or not, but a glint in his eye and the timbre of his voice made her reach for the champagne again.

"A tournament then." Rhiannon smiled, showing far too many teeth. "Lughnasa seems only too fitting. But by all means enjoy your _spoils_ tonight while you can." The way she said it suggested she meant spoiled food more than spoils of war. "I stake my right to combat. And trust me," her eyes flicked back to Sarah, "when I say I don't mean to trip again."

"Again!" Sarah gestured wildly to the Goblin King. "There! You see! She tripped! Don't you see that this has all been a misunderstanding?"

Without changing focus, Jareth deftly removed the cup of sloshing champagne from Sarah's flailing grip. "Rhiannon," his voice lowered to a tone meant only for their ears. "Why do you do this? We both know we would not have suited. This was machinated by others and now we are both free of the promise. I understand your vanity and pride have been damaged today but allow my kingdom to make amends through an offering. Several. I can be generous." He produced a crystal and held it out. "Consider this the first taste."

Rhiannon's eyes widened at whatever she saw within, but she shook her head a moment later; painted lips curling. "And miss this chance? I don't want you anymore than you want me. We both know that. But," she pointed a well-manicured finger at Sarah, "You want _her_. That much is so painfully transparent you should be ashamed at showing your hand. Why should you get what you want and I nothing? That just won't do. I'll have your kingdom and see you a pauper by the end of this. And then perhaps I'll make a rug of her skin." She snatched up the promise cup and drained it, her eyes never leaving the Goblin King's. Slamming it down, she swept from the banquet.

Jareth tracked her exit in silence before snapping his fingers at the rapt musicians. "Well, play!"

The music resumed immediately, at an even livelier pace. Curling his hand around Sarah's wrist the Goblin King tugged her back down beside him. The chatter resumed.

"Tell me," Sarah folded her hands. "Did I just get challenged to a duel?"

"Essentially." Jareth refilled their cup.

"Over you?"

"Essentially." His lips twitched as he raised it towards his mouth.

Sarah snatched the cup and drained it.

It became easier, she found, to try and enjoy the night once she had to squint to properly see anything. Everything was so comfortably blurred that she could pretend she was at any event aboveground. The music, slightly Celtic sounding, could be a band at an Irish pub. The guests, all manner of species as they were, eventually just became a general buzz of laughter and festivity. A few well wishers had made their way towards the table, but most seemed interested only in speaking with the Goblin King. A few gave Sarah curious glances as she resolutely determined to drown herself in bubbly.

The excitement of the dramatic challenge had likewise blended into the general din. From what she was gathering, challenges to the death were just as much a part of Underground weddings as were stabbings apparently. Noteworthy, but no more so than an open bar with top shelf liquor in her world.

Jareth had lapsed into a thoughtful silence. In fact, she'd almost entirely forgotten he was even there until he spoke again.

"What?"

"I asked you to dance, Sarah. Impending death aside, it's a celebration after all."

Sarah squinted at his proffered hand, trying to determine how many he was actually holding out. The music had definitely taken on a more melodic and softer feel.

"I don't want to dance with you."

Not exactly a lie. Not exactly the truth. She didn't want to dance right now, before a room full of strangers – their sham of a wedding be damned. She had already provided the dinner and a show. She'd didn't want to celebrate. She also didn't trust herself to stand let alone do anything remotely graceful like dancing. Her head had started to throb though Jareth at some point must have put the wine out of reach.

His face swam before hers for a moment as it lowered closer, and though she couldn't manage to focus on his features her nostrils flared slightly at his uniquely masculine smell.

"And what do you want, Sarah?"

Always a dangerous question.

More so when it was posed by the Goblin King.

Who was now her husband.

And she was, she was starting to realize, very, very drunk. More so than she'd intended.

The truth was she wanted so many things. She wanted it all to be a mistake. A dream. Not a bad one, exactly, but one of those that leaves you a bit breathless and confused when you wake. She wanted more wine, though she knew she'd surpassed 'that's a no good, bad idea' several refills ago. She also wanted to kill him. Maybe smell him again first but then kill him.

_No Sarah!_

She also wanted to take a little revenge herself. Get the upper hand for a change. Perhaps a much needed reminder she was apparently _the _Champion_. _It suddenly felt like a very long day indeed. And all a bit over the top. Absurd really.

"I want to go to bed."

Not the words she'd meant to speak. And not as coherently as she would have liked. I want to go home would have been more accurate. But it hadn't been a lie either.

Of course, she didn't need to be sober to know she'd made a grievous, completely amateur level misstep. She didn't need to see his expression to know it was cat-in-the-cream-pot smug.

The Goblin King stood, chair scraping back loudly enough that the music slowed and the conversation dimmed in expectation of an encore.

"It seems my lovely bride has decided she's had enough festivities for this evening and would rather go straight to bed."

His delivery was innocent enough, but the crowd was no more willing to let that one slide either. The cat calls and hoots started slowly but soon fell into time with the throbbing in her temple. There were shouts of lascivious advice to make a locker room blush. Most of it anatomically impossible for mortals, or at least not recommended without years of gymnastics training. Ideally in Russia.

Sarah stood, teetering only a little unsteadily, before righting herself, with every intention of making a break for it. A warm hand landed on the small of her back a fraction of a second later. Her legs wobbled again. She hoped the irritated look she shot him more than compensated.

The sly smile indicated it hadn't.

"As my lady commands."

To mortifying applause, he re-enacted the scene at the castle's steps, only this time scooping her up in proper bridal style. The world tilted again and a moment later he was kicking open a door.

"You know this is _not_ what I meant." Her protest was slightly muted by how bonelessly she settled into his arms. Revenge could wait and walking really was overrated.

"Yes, it seems nothing it ever as you mean."

Her brow furrowed. "Did… did you just make a bad pun?"

Whatever he said in response was lost as she took in the room they'd entered.

High arched ceilings were hewn from carved stone. Interspersed were painted reliefs of a star-filled night sky. Bookshelves lined most of the walls, interspersed with an eclectic collection of artwork. A large fireplace in the shape of a sleeping dragon dominated one end of the room, with lush chairs in leather set before it. Animal pelts – some Sarah could not place at all - were layered over plush carpets in woven in dark, muted colours. The sort you could curl your toes into. Stone sconces in the shapes of hands held flickering torches of warm white fire.

The wall opposite was filled with high windows and glass doors leading to a balcony. The sky beyond them mirrored the ceiling – so that the entire room was filled with midnight sky and stars. A deep desk held a variety of papers and looked aesthetically dishevelled. Three sets of doors were recessed into alcoves about the room.

It was maddeningly over the top and yet somehow artfully tasteful. The colours and furnishings were decidedly his. She didn't need to address the elephant in the room to know whose bedroom it was. The elephant being the large bed dominating the space. It was on a raised dais of stone steps and dressed in the same hues. Suspected from the ceiling were thick folds of fabric suspended from the ceiling in a canopy. It was both absurd and dangerously seductive.

"Absolutely not," Sarah declared – not exactly sure to whom or what she was saying no. Finally finding her measure again, she struggled enough that he set her down.

Jareth looked entirely unapologetic. "You are the one who said you wanted to go to bed."

"Not in that. _My_ bed."

He wisely chose not to remark that she was always alluring when angry, particularly with her cheeks flushed from alcohol and hair slowly escaping her pins. He didn't remark how her gown faintly glowed in the low light, body limned by fire through the deceptively sheer fabric.

Instead he inclined his head and crossed to one of the sets of recessed doors. When he opened them, Sarah couldn't help a frisson of disgust.

_That_ colour.

Everywhere. Every ruffle, bow, rug, curtain, and scrap of fabric, was the same shade. No need to ask for whom the room had been prepared.

"That is not _my_ bed. I am most definitely not sleeping here."

Jareth closed the doors again; his lips bowing into another smile Sarah didn't quite know what to do with.

"I somehow thought you'd say that. We finally agree." He steered her back towards his room.

"You know that's not what I meant either."

"Undoubtedly. I do wonder when you'll start saying what you _do_ mean."

"This," she gestured between them, "is not real. I haven't figured out exactly what's going on here but I will." Her eyes strayed back to the imposing bed. "And we're… don't even think about it." She was certainly having trouble not thinking about it. "That's just not happening. Let's be clear. I am not sleeping with you. This is not a real marriage and I will find a way to fix this and go home."

Jareth patiently listened to her ever-so-slightly slurred speech and then began tugging his cravat free as he moved away.

Sarah watched him owlishly, her throat constricting just a little. "What are you doing?'

"Getting ready for bed. I don't know how you do it, be I prefer not to be fully clothed."

"Bu didn't you hear a word I said?"

"All of them yes. In the right order too, I believe. You said you're not sleeping with me, and far be it from me to behave in an ungentlemanly manner," his eyes slid over her as he undid another button, "but I have every intention of going to sleep in _my_ bed."

When his hands moved to his fly, Sarah remembered to turn around.

"Wouldn't you prefer some privacy?"

"Sometimes nothing more. But as this is _my_ room it would be rather rude of me if I asked you to leave. Not least because you are _my_ wife. What's mine is _yours_ now." There was a decided implication Sarah refused to acknowledge as she recognized the sound of pants dropping.

She really was going to kill Hoggle, who'd noticeably kept a low profile since her unfortunate wrong turn. Hands pressed to her temple. "Nothing is going as planned."

She hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud until she heard a low chuckle from the direction of the bed.

"It's not how I envisioned my wedding night either."

"That's not what I-"

"Meant." A touch of humour in his voice had Sarah turning with a scowl. He was already in the bed, his torso bare and pale amongst the dark fabric. The linens were pulled to his waist, so she supposed he was decent enough, but it was somehow all the more suggestive. She couldn't help wonder if he wore sleep pants or nothing at all.

And then she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened had she not interrupted the wedding. Would the Rhiannon have joined him? Or he her, in the adjoining suite. They didn't seem to care for one another but that was hardly a prerequisite to sex.

A politely cleared throat returned her to the present.

The Goblin King was watching her - the slight bowing of his mouth suggested her thoughts were more transparent than intended.

"I'm too drunk for this."

"I unfortunately agree."

Sarah looked at him sharply.

Jareth restively folded an arm behind his head, causing the sheet to dip slightly. The probability of pants decreased.

"I had every intention of seducing tonight, Sarah. You may be against this wedding, but I consider this fate. Make no mistake, you may try to sever the bond," his tone implied he was far from concerned, "but _I _have no such inclination. In fact I fully intend to convince you otherwise."

It occurred to Sarah that he was actually speaking plainly for a change.

"And how do you plan to do that?"

The crooked smile widened. "Why, anyway I see fit. I played fair last time." He held up a hand when Sarah made to interrupt. "Mostly. You were young. Innocent. Spoiled. The same rules no longer apply. I don't intend to lose again."

It felt like a promise, like a vow in the church.

Sarah frowned, trying to fully parse his words.

"But," and he almost sounded regretful, "I don't take advantage of drunk women."

She immediately pulled a face. "Don't pretend you have morals now."

"Oh, I don't. Nothing you'd recognize anyway. But when your defences fall, and they will, Sarah. I have no intention of letting you blame it on wine. Sleep well… wherever you so choose." He rolled over, presenting her with the equally unnerving sight of a well-sculpted back. Jesus wept.

Sarah wobbled drunkenly for a moment, trying to get her mouth and mind in sync for a change.

She marched to the adjoining doors. "Yes… well… don't rest too easily, Goblin King. Rhiannon's probably going to win anyway and then we'll see who's sleeping easy." With some difficulty, she slammed then behind her.

As a parting shot it was mediocre at best and collapsed under any kind of scrutiny. Rhiannon winning meant Sarah would lose just as dearly. She might be freed of him, but was likewise be freed of her mortal coil in the process. She didn't relish spending eternity as a rug.

Sarah leaned against the door and kicking her delicate heels off. She didn't particularly want to sleep in any room meant for another bride, but sleeping with another bride's groom wasn't any better. And she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of awkwardly trying to share a bed. No sane person would ever do something so rife for shenanigans.

And then she yelped.

No quite a scream, not quite a shout, and ending in a sort of hiccough.

Seated by the fire were Great Aunt Morrigan and Calliope. Morrigan and her raven were staring into the flames. Calli was reclined on a settee, picking at a bowl of fruit diffidently.

"Oh, excuse me…" Sarah automatically turned to leave and then paused, hand on the doorknob. "Er… I think this is… well, my room, actually?"

Morrigan's eyes flicked towards her. Once again Sarah was struck with the feeling that despite appearances, the woman before her was both incredibly old and incredibly powerful.

"This room was intended for the Lady Rhiannon of the Tuatha Dé."

Calli snorted but was silenced by a look from her aunt.

Sarah swallowed nervously, wishing once again she'd not had so much to drink. "If you're here to tell me that I don't belong here, trust me I'm well aware. I've been trying to tell anyone who will listen that this was all a mistake."

The goddess looked around and then stood. "She really does have appalling taste." The bird on her shoulder watched Sarah unblinkingly. "You're drunk."

"Deliciously so." Calli winked.

"A little." She couldn't stop the slur. "A lot. Today was…" there were so many words Sarah wanted to use, "a bit much."

"Indeed." Morrigan turned and approached, touching Sarah's head with finger before she could retreat. The sensation was like instant frostbite. Like death.

"Arghhhh!" Sarah immediately doubled over in pain, her stomach roiling dangerously, and head throbbing so hard she thought it would split itself open. And then… nothing. She'd sobered in an instant, like a hangover on fast forward.

Morrigan watched her writhe impassively. "Now we may speak plainly." Her eyes swept over Sarah's dress and the untouched bed. "It's tradition for the bride's family to prepare you for the wedding night, but as yours aren't here we shall have to do the duty alone."

Calli waggled her brows. "I volunteered."

"Prepare?" Realization was slow to come and when it did, she wasn't sure if she wanted to cringe or laugh outright. "Oh my god. I'm no blushing virgin." She snapped a finger. "That's it. I'm _NOT_ a virgin! That must mean I'm illegible, right? Have to call it all off now? Disgrace to the family honour and all that? Because I can give you names. I will give you all the names!"

Calli and Morrigan exchanged a puzzled glance and then the siren devolved into outright peels of laughter. "She thinks virginity is necessary! Oh, Hades! Probably imagines we hang the bloody sheets out the window like absolute savages. Imagine! Rhiannon a virgin! Oh, I _can't_ wait to tell Cern."

Her aunt quelled the siren into silence with another glare. "If virginity were required most alliances would never taken place. Virginity? Stuff and nonsense mortals invented. No. As is ancient tradition, we are here to disarm you."

"Do you mean… undress?"

Morgan's affronted expression suggested no one had ever dared correct her before. "I _mean_ disarm."

"Oh." As though that answered it. "Do a lot of brides go to bed… armed here?"

Calli rose from her supine position. "It's really just a formality." She waved a hand. "Symbolic of a trusting union, et cetera. But yes, actually. A fair bit. I'm really just here for the undressing bit. Thought we'd missed out when we didn't find you. Imagined Jareth hadn't wasted any time. He always was a rebel."

"No. Absolutely not. This entire wedding was a mistake. I have no intention of…" she waved a hand in the general direction of the adjoining door.

Calli considered Sarah's earnest expression and then laughed outright. "By Hades, I think you're serious. But you drank so much fertility wine!"

The queasiness returned.

"Um… what?"

"Tonight. At the feast. I assumed you had jitters as you didn't seem particularly fond of my cousin. You tossed back cup after cup after cup. The wine," Calli continued when Sarah looked confused. "It's a way… of smoothing things between couples. Most of these weddings are strategic alliances. Liquid courage… oils the chariot and all that. Wait, do mortals still use chariots?"

"Oh my god, I drank so much…"

Calli's eyes flashed perceptively. "Indeed. And yet, my cousin sleeps alone tonight. By all rights if you hated him, with the amount you drank you should have still been like a Cravling in heat… unless…" The goddess gave another peal of laughter. "Oh, this is even better!"

"What? What's even better?" She mentally added fertility wine to her growing list of grievances.

"Oh nothing, nothing." Calli's expression cleared. "Shall we?"

Sarah felt the same tingling pull she'd felt in the sitting room before. "Shall we what?"

Calliope reached for the ties on Sarah's dress. "As gorgeous as it is, we can't let you sleep in this now can we?"

Sarah sidestepped her reach. "I can undress myself." She wondered if she needed to get that tattooed on her forehead.

"But where's the fun in that. And it is tradition."

"Calli," Morrigan's imperious tone made the siren scowl petulantly. "I think we can skip this part. We've established she won't try and murder him in his sleep.

"Perish the thought," Sarah replied dryly but, cleared her throat awkwardly at a piercing glance from Morrigan.

"And since her family is not here to inspect the groom, it seems unnecessary. She's a mortal, there can be no glamour."

"Spoilsport."

"Inspect? Glamour?"

Morrigan huffed, clearly beyond irritated by mortal ignorance. "With magic, nothing is what it appears. You would want to make sure everyone is who they say they are, don't you? Imagine you think you've married a handsome kelpie only to find out it's actually just a horse glamoured. Tricksters by nature. The family of the groom therefore undresses the bride to make sure she's not using magic to fool her husband. And naturally your family, were they here, would do the same for the groom to make sure he's what he appears to be."

Calli scrunched her nose in a grin. "My father was the best at glamour."

"Are you… are you talking about Zeus-"

"Focus!" Morrigan rapped her staff.

Calli slid Sarah a knowing smile. "It's always best to use your hands to make sure everything's real."

Sarah couldn't stop the ridiculous image of Karen undressing Jareth, making sure everything was natural, while her father looked on.

"Or your teeth if you're feeling frisky, "Calli continued undaunted. "Are you sure you don't want me to demonstrate? I promise not to bite unless you ask nicely."

"That won't be necessary, Calliope." Morrigan rapped her staff again. "We've done our duty to try and slap some legitimacy on this nightmare of a union. It will quell some of the tongues and I'll simply remove the rest if I have to. Come along. Let the unfortunate mortal sleep while she can. She'll likely be dead in a week." Morrigan vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

"Dead…"

"I think she likes you." Calli nodded kindly, and then gave Sarah a final disappointed look. "Are you sure you don't need help? Hmm, no? Such a pity." She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Sarah's cheek. "Welcome to the family, _cousin_." The siren smelled like salt and sun and sex and she felt her knees quiver just a little, despite being quite sober.

When Calli pulled back her expression was coy, like she knew something Sarah didn't. "Sweet dreams, little mortal."

* * *

**Credit:**

So a reader very aptly and kindly pointed out that Calliope is a muse (the head muse in fact) in Greek mythology and sometimes called the mother of the sirens, but not a siren herself. I completely miffed that up but I'm playing fast and loose here with the mythologies I'm combining. Don't mind me. I'm going to keep her as is.

Rhiannon in Celtic mythology is a major figure in the Mabinogi, the medieval Welsh story collection, and is notable for being politically strategic and beautiful. Again, I'm playing pretty fast and loose here… much like Calli!

Lughnasa (or Lughnasdh) is a Gaelic festival marking the beginning of the harvest season. Usually associated/ celebrated August 1st.

**AN:**

Sorry this took so long to get out. Work has been crazy and my brain melted. But see? An update. I haven't just been dicking around on LFFL and FB!

Don't come for about that other story. I haven't forgotten about it, I'm just not returning its texts right now and I took my read receipt off. I'll beg its forgiveness later. I have restrained myself from starting a new summer camp romp fic though *pats self on back* as I'm already a WIP two-timer and I can't keep either of them satisfied.

Hope everyone in this hemisphere is enjoying summer so far!


	6. The Morning After

**AN:** Earns the mature rating here.

* * *

"Dreaming permits each and everyone of us to be quietly and safely insane every night of our lives."

**William Dement**

* * *

Sarah wasn't sure when she'd finally fallen asleep for good.

There had been much tossing and turning despite the fact that the bed was, she'd be loathe to admit, incredibly comfortable. Without help getting out of the dress had proven to be a logistical nightmare, though damned if she was going to ask Jareth anymore than she would have trusted Calli.

In the end she'd finally managed it, wincing just a little at the unmistakable sound of fabric rending.

Finding something to sleep in had proved just as frustrating. The large closet was well stocked, but not with anything Sarah remotely considered sleepwear. There were gowns, some even Sarah might call tasteful, and a few other odds and ends but none of them practical. Then there were the scraps of fabric suggesting they might be nightwear, but on closer inspection proved to be the kind of things one wore to bed when the intention was anything but sleep.

Sleeping nude didn't seem anymore advisable.

Rifling through the bits of lace, leather, and silk, Sarah eventually pulled out what could be called a nightgown if you squinted. From a distance. In heavy fog.

Though it was long, it was mostly transparent, with just a few artful bits of beading and embroidery to disguise the important bits. The two shoulder straps were little more than gossamer bows, and the neckline dipped down to her breastbone. The colour was an iridescent pearl, reminiscent of fairy wings. On closer inspection Sarah suspected it actually was made from what must be thousands of fairy wings. She felt a pang of guilt, though considering she still sported a surprisingly nasty scar from her last encounter with one, it was fleeting.

Catching herself in the wardrobe mirror, she almost opted for naked. It was somehow more scandalous. Provocative in a teasing, deceptively innocent sort of way, until you turned it this way…

Though she was shorter than the Rhiannon, the fit was fine. It was the sort of thing one wore while running through a castle by candlelight in some made for TV late night movie.

_Something she could actually now do if she wanted to…_

The sort of thing that always ended in ripped bodices and an R rating…

_Something else she could… NO._

She fiddled with the dress again and then finally crawled into bed, resolving that no one would see it anyway.

* * *

When she woke it was still full night. The preternatural feeling of being watched made her freeze, hands curling into the comforter reflexively. A light breeze from the open balcony ruffled the bed curtains gently.

And between them, perched on the balcony's railing beyond, was a white barn owl; its black eyes unblinking and trained unmistakably upon her.

She relaxed for a moment, body recognizing it wasn't a threat.

Until her mind caught up and reassessed.

"You god-damned pervert," she hissed, and then tossed a chintz pillow at the bird. It unfortunately missed by a wide margin.

Drawing upon her old softball days, Sarah picked up another pillow and palmed it. She pulled herself up into a kneeling position. _Ready_.

"Is this really how you get off? Watching girls sleep?" _Aim._

"Let's see how you enjoy this little slice, you… you…" _Aim_

"…peeping pigeon!" _Fire_.

Direct owl and the pillow sailed over the balcony in an impressive explosion of feathers.

A politely cleared throat wiped the victorious grin from Sarah's face a scant second later.

Jareth leaned against the open doorway between their rooms. His arms were crossed across his bare chest. Low slung silk pants perilously clung narrow hips. His hair was artfully more dishevelled than normal and one brow was arched above sleepy eyes dancing with mirth.

"Vanquishing midnight demons?"

Sarah looked back to the window. "I thought…" A few feathers still hung in the air.

A low knowing chuckle. "That I have nothing better to do than spy on you in the middle of the night?"

Sarah sank back on her heels. "Well…"

"Because might I point out that were I so inclined there is a perfectly serviceable door," he patted the frame, "right here."

"Do you always get off on being so insufferably smug?"

"More so than I do on spying through windows."

"Noted," Sarah replied waspishly. "My mistake." Her eyed drifted back to the window. "Oh, but that poor little owl then!"

"Oh, don't fret much. That was no innocent owl; it just wasn't me. He still got an eyeful for his pains. Fetching dress by the way."

The next pillow hit the hastily closed door.

* * *

Unable to sleep again - partially because of lack of pillows - she'd finally given up altogether and pulled herself from the bed, both sweaty and frustrated. One of the doors in the bedroom was open, and from it a cool breeze was flowing. Upon closer inspection, it led to a set of stone steps. The door at the bottom opened into the lavish bathhouse from earlier. This time with no unwanted company. The place was fully dark, but the sconces flared to life invitingly when she crossed the threshold. The water in the dark pool was as still and clear as polished glass.

Sarah dipped a toe in it, breaking the surface slightly. It was refreshingly cool, but not cold. Perfect really. Her arms immediately broke out in goosebumps.

She scanned the room and then pulled the delicate gown over her head and dropped in on the edge. Rocking on her heels for a moment, she executed a perfectly flawless shallow dive. She broke the surface on her back, arms stretched out in a float. She hadn't noticed before, but the ceiling was entirely windows – displaying to full effect the expanse of stars above. She did a few lazy back strokes. The cooler air teasing the exposed skin of her front.

Through the muffling of the water round her head, she caught a faint sound. It was enough to make her arch up, legs kicking in a tread, as she looked around the pool.

And then she locked eyes with him.

He was propped against a far corner, submersed to his waist and arms spread on the stone, watching her.

Sarah sank down, leaving only her head above water and crossing one arm protectively across her chest. She wasn't sure she could accuse him of trespassing when it was his castle, so she said nothing, instead turning to swim towards the opposite side. When she got there, she realized there was no modest way to exit. No towels in reach and her gown across the pool.

A low chuckle danced across the surface. Near enough the she turned defensively. He was stopped only a few feet away. Close enough that she could see he was naked even in the low light. She looked back up to his face, her own flushing despite the cool water lapping at their skin.

Before she could speak, he reached out and tugged her arm free. Her nipples were already tightly furled from the pool but she felt them sharpen even more under his keen gaze. She kicked away when he reached out but felt the wall hit her back. Her feet caught on the submerged ledge skirting the edge of the pool. The stairs nowhere near. She turned, hands bracing on the edge to pull herself out when a warm arm snaked about her waist and she felt an equally warm body mold to her back. His hand slid up and cupped a full breast. Her breath studdered out brokenly. His weight pressed her up against the side and she could feel him, equally hard and hot, against her cheeks.

Fingers stroked the fullness of her wet breast before rolling the nipple between them. She inhaled sharply, neck arching. He brushed the damp hair away from her ear, and then lips pressed against her pulse, a tongue coming out to taste her salt slicked skin.

His feet found purchase on either side of hers and she could feel his cock dip for a moment between her thighs and nudge her folds. She was already slick even in the water. His other hand dropped from her neck to palm her other breast, this time his touch a little more aggressive. A little more unpolished. Her hands, still pressed to the tile, fisted. He growled against her neck, mouth still hotly sucking along her jaw. One hand slid down between the wall and her body until his fingers splayed her folds and found the tiny bundle of nerves. There was no hesitation when he slid a finger in. She jerked back, her ass pressing into him rhythmically.

His own breath caught, and for a moment his teeth sank into her skin. And then he gripped her hips and lifted so that she ended up half out, her upper body pressed into the cool stone of the pool's edge. He spread her legs from behind, the cool air hitting her exposed flesh. Water lapped against her thighs. One hand pressed her down into the stone, the other palmed the cheek of her ass roughly.

His breath fanned against her clit and then lips…

* * *

Sarah shot awake to a face staring down at her.

She squealed and almost flung herself from the bed.

"Hello." Rook watched her spastic reactions curiously.

Sarah coaxed her breathing back down, slaking off the last vestiges of sleep and a dream she couldn't quite remember. She was hot and sticky, and the bed sheets were tangled like she'd taken up origami in her sleep.

"Rook… you scared me half to death!" She pressed a hand to her clammy forehead. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm glad you kept your promise. I came because I thought I was too late."

"Rook, I can't begin to tell you how much I haven't had my coffee yet."

"Mother said you'd died. I thought you'd broken your promise and done it without me."

"I - what? Died?"

"She said you'd died of mortification. Or would die. Or you must have died… something about the dinner."

Sarah collapsed back against the bed. "This is seriously too much."

"So I scared you half to death?" The boy canted his head, and studied her wan expression. "Are mortals really that fragile? Are you really half dead now?"

"Rook. While I find your morbid fixation on my death charming, unless you next words are, 'Here I've brought you coffee and annulment papers to sign', could we please continue this another time?"

"Okay," he sounded disappointed but undaunted, "just don't die 'til I see you next. Father says the Lady Rhiannon plans to make you into a carpet. Pretty neat, right?"

She pulled the covers fully over her head, her reply muffled. "Always a pleasure, Rook."

The boy must have exited the same way he arrived, for when she lowered the blankets again she was alone. Sun streamed in through the windows creating little prisms of colour everywhere. One burst refracted from a single crystal on the bedside table.

Sarah stared at it distrustfully for a moment. When it did nothing noteworthy she finally reached out and poked it.

With a flash it was replaced by a silver tray containing a still steaming urn of coffee, pot of cream, and small bowl of sugar. A single rose – the same rich colours as those at the banquet and in perfect bloom – perched in a mercury glass vase.

The smell was divine and her stomach clenched in anticipation. It would be pointless, and really just mulish, to refuse she decided. The risk of fertility coffee did cross her mind but she shook that off as well. She'd happily jump a naval ship for java in the morning.

The first sip was nectar of the gods – and the not the misfit ones who'd been at her wedding. Nightmare of a marriage aside, the evening's horrors were muted by the morning's promise of defeating an enemy. At his own game.

Again.

The odds had been stacked against her before and she'd still prevailed. Hell, if she didn't leave the room, the whole thing might end up being a much needed break from work. She felt a slight pang wondering if her disappearance had yet been noted, and if so in what respect.

But coffee first.

She was on her second refill when she heard the unwanted knock at the door. Scowling in anticipation of whomever was on the other-side, she offered a curt, 'enter.'

A stout looking goblin guard hesitated in the doorway, wringing its hands in indecision.

"Your… Your majesty?"

Sarah looked around the room by rote and then remember the goblin was unfortunately addressing her.

"… yes?"

"I'm ah… here to escort you to breakfast. The king sends his regrets. He had business this morning."

Sarah immediately held up a hand. "Let me stop you right there. No, thank you. I won't be attending. Coffee is just fine. Not a big breakfast eater anyway."

The guard blinked at her. "You're er… saying… no? To the king?"

Sarah smiled sweetly into her cup. "Repeatedly, emphatically, gleefully, and in every language I speak. Which is only two, maybe three if I'm a little drunk, but I think I've conveyed the gist."

The goblin scratched his head like he'd never heard anything so preposterous. "…and you want me to tell him that? 'No.'"

Sarah nodded slowly. "But feel free to be as creative as you like."

The guard swallowed deeply.

"And… ah…er… yer certain?"

Sarah used her hand to mime him walking back out the door.

A few minutes later the tray emptied, followed by the cup in her hand.

"Petty, Jareth. But I had enough anyway." She stretched in the plush bed. "Think I'll go back to sleep and pretend this is all just a nightmare."

An elegant card in thick, pressed paper appeared on the tray.

Staring at it didn't make it go away, so she picked it up, entirely resigned to the fact that it would not be divorce papers as wished. Her eyes narrowed.

"I wish I were divorced." Nothing happened.

The note - written in a bold and arrogantly messy style - read, "My thanks for the boost to my reputation. Staying in bed all day suggests I either wore you out completely last night or that there's nowhere you would rather be and eagerly await my return. Regardless, you've fed the gossip mill for years. J. p.s. Nice try."

It took Sarah less than five minutes to throw on clothes and stalk out of the room.

* * *

She was very much aware she was being manipulated, but she also knew the notes would continue. And eventually he would come himself. She wanted to be somewhere other than a bedroom when he did.

Another goblin guard was waiting outside, picking his nose. He immediately stood to attention when the door opened, snot dripping precariously from a finger.

Sarah considered him. "What happened to the other one? From before?"

"Bogged."

"Bogged?"

The guard nodded, wiping his hands on his trousers. "King is not a fan of no."

Sarah was fairly sure he'd meant it as a warning, but instead she just laughed.

Through the twists and turns of the castle, she was eventually shown to a bright sunny room, set for an intimate breakfast. If intimate included a rag tag of unwanted in-laws.

Rook, his parents, Cern, Calliope, Lugh, and Boudicca made up the rest of the table. Morrigan was notably absent.

Jareth rose when she entered, his eyes flashing with poorly concealed victory.

"Ah, the bride herself. Wedded and bedded," Lugh offered by way of greeting. Sarah was positive it was meant to embarrass her.

"He wed her, yes." Cern leaned back and slung a booted foot up on the table, his keen eyes assessing. "Doesn't much look like he bed her."

So breakfast was off to a good start.

The Goblin King ignored them both and pulled back a chair for Sarah. It was evident from his own untouched plate, that he had been otherwise engaged.

"You can stop pretending to be a gentleman," she whispered tartly when he poured her a cup of coffee without asking.

"And here I rather thought you preferred it that way. The confines of civility. By all means give me permission to forgo them."

She accepted the cup, china rattling ever so slightly, when his thumb brushed her wrist. Sarah turned her attention back to the room. "Where's the Lady Morrigan?" She didn't particularly care, in fact she felt more at ease when not being stared at by the raven, but she was eager to turn the attention away from herself.

"Oh, she's not one for mornings." Lugh answered from across the table with a dismissive wave.

"Too busy plucking out wagging tongues I believe," Calli added blithely. Sarah couldn't tell if she was joking and didn't really want to ask.

"Not worth her while anyway." Boudicca affected a pout. "Silly to be stuck in here when the wedding breakfast really should have been hosted in the great hall."

"I thought Sarah would prefer a little quiet this morning," Jareth replied evenly as he took his seat. "Something a touch less public."

Calli propped her head on her hands and sighed. "More intimate."

"It would have been far more intimate had he brought her breakfast in bed. I wonder why he didn't." Cern winked at Sarah provokingly. "Could it be he'd be more likely to wear it?"

She choked on a bit of toast.

"Get your boots off my table, Cern."

The horned god complied, but the grin remained. "Rough night, cousin?"

Jareth didn't deign to answer.

"And you? Sweet dreams, _cousin_?" It took Sarah a moment to realize Calli was directing the question to her. By that time everyone was staring at her expectantly. She'd been in the midst of cracking the top off the largest soft boiled egg she'd ever seen, trying very hard not to imagine from whence it had come.

"I…" a shadow of a memory made Sarah's nerves dance, her skin prickling and stomach clenching. She could feel the siren's canny eyes on her, so she forced the feeling down. "Fine. Just fine." She knocked the egg harder than she'd meant to and the top went sailing through the air.

Jareth, whose attention had turned to his own breakfast, caught it deftly. He glanced quizzically at Sarah and then at Callilope, eyes narrowing on his cousin's knowing smile.

The conversation settled into what Sarah imagined was the usual fare. Rook's parents, Reina and Reagan, began discussing trade between the Underground lands. From what she could follow it seemed Reina was in favour of flexible, aggressively dynamic, and multi-directional strategies. Reagan was more reticent to commit to more than one or two moves at a time.

Calli and Cern seemed to have a somewhat competitive relationship and both were intent on regaling her with tales of each other's foibles – the time Cern was caught by his own snare and nearly lost his manhood. The time Calli had tried to seduce an entire fleet only to discover they were a travelling band of deaf eunuchs.

Despite her decision not to let her guard down, Sarah found it was hard not to laugh.

"Lugh and I are off for a ride." Boudicca and Lugh rose in unison, interrupting another of Cern's tales. They inclined their head to Jareth and after a beat too long to quite qualify as polite, they did the same for Sarah.

Rook and his parents excused themselves a few minutes later as well, but not before Rook reminded Sarah of her promise - this time receiving a gentle cuff in the head from his mother.

Calli and Cern, by contrast, appeared in no hurry to leave despite several meaningful looks from the Goblin King.

"Why are you kicking me under the table, cousin?" Cern grinned.

Sarah frowned between them and then pushed her half-finished plate forward.

"Appetite satiated?" the Siren purred. Cern tossed a roll at her head.

"I'm just happy the 'celebrations' are over." Sarah didn't add so that she could focus on immediately undoing the union. She just needed a library.

The ensuing silence was so heavily laden, Sarah almost dabbed at her mouth self-consciously.

"What…" And then she felt the crushing weight of understanding settle on her chest. "They aren't over, are they?"

Calli smothered a snort.

Cern poured himself another glass of what looked like beer. "Far from it. There are so few marriages of such… importance, and this was to be a particularly momentous joining that the celebrations were to last a fortnight. Jareth here may have exchanged a bride, but his guests will still expect entertainment for their troubles. More so now, if anything."

"And last night wasn't enough?"

"Oh, you just whet their hunger for more."

"And when exactly will _they _be 'satiated'?" Sarah asked sourly.

"In general? Never. But the festivities were to last until," Cern paused briefly as though hesitant to finish, "Lughnasa. As is tradition." He shot her a pitying look that she supposed was meant to be kind but just made her all the more annoyed by the whole situation.

"_Lovely_. So I can spend the next week celebrating a marriage I didn't want – _don't_ want - and then die horribly in a duel in which I stand no chance."

"I would never let you die, Sarah."

Jareth's quiet words cut across the table. They were softly spoken but blade sharp. He'd been hitherto silent, almost forgotten, but Sarah found herself unable to look away from his expression - a heady mix of fierce conviction and earnest vow.

"Then you'll be happy to help me get out of this duel then." And this marriage, she added to herself.

"Oh, there's no backing out of it." The Goblin King leaned back in his chair, managing to look regal even at breakfast. "It is her right."

"But, and stop me if I've said this before," Sarah intoned sarcastically, "this was all a misunderstanding. You have to see this. I'm not sure what you're endgame is – it's clear enough that you didn't want to marry her, nor she you - but there is no reason I must be pulled into this… this."

Jareth steepled his fingers. "Stop me if I'm wrong, Sarah, but do you find yourself in this _marriage_," he added with emphasis, "because I dragged you kicking and screaming from your world into mine? Hmm? No? So how, one wonders, do you claim to have the moral high ground when you are the one trespassing on _my_ lands?" When she didn't answer he continued thoughtfully. "Really, as a mortal trespassing in the Underground, I would be in _my_ rights to do whatever I want to you."

Sarah threw down her napkin. "Is that a threat?"

"Are you frightened?"

"No." It was only a partial lie.

"Then it wasn't a threat. You'll know when it is."

Sarah's eyes flicked to the pair avidly listening. "Should we continue this conversation privately?"

"Oh, don't stop on our account – this is fascinating to watch," Calli replied, propping her silvery head on one hand and twirling a finger. "Go on. Now you say something cutting to him."

"Yes, make fun of his hair or something," Cern suggested eagerly.

"Leave us."

Jareth tone made Sarah wonder if she'd made a tactical error. Being alone meant no witnesses. She looked back the cousins beseechingly.

"I want to go kill something anyway," Cern sighed and pushed back from the table.

Calli followed suit. "He always was such a spoilsport. No wonder you won't sleep with him." She pulled a face at the Goblin King and flounced out of the room leaving behind the beguiling scent of sea and sex.

When they were alone Sarah counted to thirty before speaking again. "Look, I don't want to fight."

Jareth snorted.

"Much. But can't you see… It was an accident. I wasn't meant to be at your wedding, I was trying to get to the Goblin Market."

"To find your ring."

"Yes! Exactly."

"A ring you've done without all this time." Jareth's tone had softened considerably, but it still did nothing to relax Sarah.

"Yes… but…Yes." She looked down. "I was feeling nostalgic. You see my mother just died and she'd given it right before she left. It," voice catching, "it meant something, something I didn't value at the time."

A comforting hand settled on her shoulder and stroked the edge of her clavicle. At some point he'd gotten up and crossed round the table. Fingers brushed the hair away from her ear, tracing the shell for a moment. The feeling was strangely familiar and she instantly flushed. When he spoke, breath fanned her cheek.

"I would offer my condolences." The words skated down her spine. "But we both know that your mother is alive and well in Italy right now. You are a very good liar, Sarah, but not that good."

She slammed a hand down on the table. "Bastard."

Jareth laughed and moved away.

"She still gave it to me. And I do want it back. And I… well I didn't meant to trespass."

"Sarah…"

"Well, I didn't mean for you to know I was."

"That's closer to the truth." He was standing by the tall casement windows.

"I'm not really sure you're in a position to call me a liar."

"Oh? And when have I lied to you."

Sarah stood, her hand curling round the back of the chair. "How about, 'you have thirteen hours to solve the Labyrinth'?"

"And I gave you 13 hours if I recall."

"Then took three away!"

"Semantics. And you were far too smug for someone so young."

His attention was still on the window and it was somehow all the more galling. She strode up to him, intent to maker her point and unsure what she was most annoyed by. "I still beat you."

He turned then and Sarah realized too late she'd been drawn into a trap. He moved behind her like a shadow, one hand ghosting her waist. From her unhindered vantage she could see the chaos of the labyrinth and city below. Celebrations were still in full swing. Even from a distance she could see the banners and bunting and sparks of magic in the air.

He brushed her hair behind her ear again. She'd never considered her ears sensitive before but she couldn't stop another frisson dancing across her nerves.

"And now you have me." Lips touched her neck this time. "Is that not reward? Is that not fate?"

His words were the kind of arrogance Sarah normally made a habit of quashing outright. But it was hard to focus with his mouth moving so firmly against her pulse. Teeth scraped and her knees wobbled just a little.

"What are you doing?"

She felt his laugh against her neck. "Is it not obvious then? I thought I told you. Perhaps I need to be more clear." The hand at her waist turned her towards him and he dipped his head down swiftly. Sarah pulled back at the same time so that his lips landed at the corner of her mouth instead. She felt his smile.

"I don't intend to be seduced." She could feel her cheeks redden.

Jareth pulled back. "Where would the fun be if you did? But why the blushing virgin," a finger stroked her face. "I believe I heard tell of a list of names, was it?"

Sarah swatted at him. "I'm not pretending to be a blushing virgin."

His grin widened and her eyes trailed back to his mouth of their own accord. "All the better. It's just me who has this charming effect on you." He stood back and spread his arms. "By all means, feel free to seduce me."

Sarah folded her arms. "I prefer a challenge."

"Who says I'm easy? I'm not the one who keeps lists."

Her jaw dropped. Which naturally meant he took it as invitation to make a second attempt. This time his mouth landed squarely on the mark. Reflexively she pressed a hand on his chest to push him away, but then his tongue teased between her parted lips. She would tell herself later that it distracted her and that's why she didn't immediately end it. Not because his fingers had splayed across her back and curled into her skin like a brand. Or because his other hand had threaded through her hair to gently cradle her nape. His mouth was soft and firm and somehow demanding without being bruising. She inhaled deeply, trying hard not to think about how good he smelled. Like fresh linens and coffee and something uniquely him.

Uneven teeth caught her lip, tugging gently, and reminding her she'd been responding. Just as enthusiastically. Some of the playfulness of the kiss changed. Deepening. More starved. He made a sound against her mouth that triggered the thought of damp skin and water.

Her body's fierce reaction startled her. Enough that she would have broken the kiss had the knock on the door, followed by distinctive sounds of it opening, not made Jareth pull up sharply.

"What?"

The single word cut across the room like an arrow and pierced right into the goblin standing stunned in the doorway.

Jareth looked furiously savage and every bit the Goblin King.

The goblin looked pleadingly to Sarah, at the floor, at the now cold sausages. Everywhere but Jareth.

Sarah swallowed, licking her lips. She could still taste him. "Can't you see he's scared? It wasn't his fault." And in truth she was thankful for the cold dose of reality.

She felt Jareth tense, like he'd never been called out on his temper before. She could feel his eyes on her, but she had no intention of looking at him just yet.

"Yes? What did you want?" It didn't escape her notice that she sounded rather regal.

The goblin bowed, the fact that he was still shaking made his armour rattle. "Yer… yer majesties? The guests… the guests are waiting to do the presentations of the gifts." He immediately cowered like he expected to be bogged on the spot.

The Goblin King's expression suggested it was still a possibility.

Sarah smoothed a hand down her dress. "Oh." She glanced back at Jareth and then immediately looked away again. "Right. Lead the way." It was the last thing she wanted to do really, but staying in the room with _him_ any longer was definitely counter productive to her escaping the sham union.

She stepped away to follow the guard but Jareth snagged her wrist.

"I'd be impressed that you are so eager to take up your royal duties if I didn't know better. You are running away, Sarah. I never took you for a coward."

She pulled back futilely. "I'm no coward. And you should know that no matter your tricks and your cheating, you're going to fail again. Spectacularly. I'll level the castle this time. You might as well give up now."

Eyes never leaving her face, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the skin of her wrist before releasing her. "Never."

* * *

**AN:** The mature rating being the dream of course. I was never going to throw them in the sack that quick. *pshaw* Amateurs. I did feel weird about Rook being the first thing she saw after it, but eh, she forgot the dream… or did she? *waggles brows*

So there was a LOT of talking in this fic and not so much action (pun intended). Never fear! They will do stuff (pun also intended). Next chapter we get into the "gifts and some of the wedding celebration events. None that Sarah will find disturbing. No, none at all. Thanks for your patience and hope you are enjoying this weirdness. I wasn't going to finish this today (I still had the dream portion to complete) but then someone posted some sexy Labyinth fanart and I was like, well shit, if you're going to just force my hand like that…

Further FYI, Calli is totally going to keep flirting with Sarah. As will Cern. Not because Sarah is some mythical perfect human that no being can resist but because it ruffles Jareth's balls and I am a big time fan of ruffling Jareth's balls. They are the cousins that you loved/hated growing up. The ship is definitely J/S and will always be J/S but there will be some… temptation and minor shenanigans that's for sure. I don't think the fey are particularly sexually repressed beings.

True story: My H was once telling an awkward story and I was rather desperately kicking him under the table to get him to stop. He paused long enough to ask, "Why are you kicking me under the table?" That is a real thing that happened. The man I married (intentionally), folks.


	7. The Gift(s)

**AN:** In which the author abuses a trope. Again.

* * *

"There's always truth in seduction. That's why it works."

**Zoe Archer**

* * *

When the doors opened to the throne room it was not to the one Sarah remembered.

For one the place was immaculately clean and dressed to an impressive degree with yet more flowers and crystal accents. Banners depicting what she assumed must the Goblin King's sigil - a barn owl in flight, talons holding a crystal, and set against a midnight blue backdrop of a triskele maze - hung from the high ceiling in rows.

And two the space was huge, which was fortunate considering the immense number of guests who turned expectantly at her entrance.

This was not the simple gift opening she'd been expecting.

Rather than the lone circular throne, dual thrones - joined together by an elaborately carved knot, were set on a small dais. Behind them great stone wings rose up and curved above them like a canopy.

Not usually shy, Sarah immediately balked; feet refusing to take another step. In her haste to escape her 'husband' she'd thrown herself from the frying pan right back into the fire.

It didn't help that so many of the eyes were trained on her as though they expected her to do something interesting.

Like stab someone.

Again.

When she continued to do nothing more than stand there, murmurs and whispers were exchanged behind cupped hands. Sarah had chosen a simple sheath dress – the most basic and easiest to get into that she could find in the borrowed wardrobe. She'd barely brushed her hair and had put on no makeup whatsoever in her haste to get down to breakfast. Against the guests' elaborate finery she imagined she looked even more out of place than she felt. And she absolutely hated that it even bothered her at all.

When she smoothed a sweaty palm over her hip instead of silk she felt thick velvety fabric. Sarah looked down and immediately inhaled sharply. What she saw was a gown of deep saturated crimson, draping in thick folds to the floor. From what little she could tell, the bodice was an even deeper oxblood red leather corset - almost armour-like. The sleeves were long and fitted, and laced down her arms and past her wrists like gauntlets. Had she had a mirror, she would have noticed that the collar rose around her shoulders and neck like jagged horns, so that the whole effect was possibly more goblin than the Goblin King himself.

He'd joined her at her side and she eyed him surreptitiously. He too had been dressed comparatively modestly at breakfast. Now he wore a variation of the same armour he'd worn the night she'd made that cataclysmic wish. The one that had turned her world upside down and was apparently still intent on spinning her. The colour was mostly a stark black, but slashes of the same oxblood in her gown slashed in patterns across his breastplate.

The message was in no way subtle. Much like him.

When she made no move to take his proffered arm, he simply took hers and placed it upon his. A moment later they were in motion. When they ascended the steps, her mind finally fell in tune with her body and she hesitated a full beat before sitting down. Taking a place on the throne felt like too great a concession.

Unfortunately the only alternative was running away and that was too much like defeat. Plus it hadn't even worked last time. She was in no mood to cause another scene or act like a feckless child for their enjoyment. In the short time she'd gone from breakfast to the throne room she'd formulated a plan, and part of it involved playing along.

Until she no longer had to.

When she finally caved, she was rewarded with a look from Jareth that threatened to wreak havoc on her resolve. There was the expected smugness and satisfaction, ever present when he got his way, but also something entirely foreign and unnerving. Like she was the final piece of a puzzle he'd been searching for. His gloved hand settled on the shared arm of their thrones, fingers splayed towards hers.

She folded her own into her skirts.

The procession of gifts began almost immediately and though she dreaded any reminder of their unwanted union, she was happy for the distraction.

As it turned out the only thing the fey liked better than receiving lavish gifts was the absolutely ostentatious presentation of them. It was as much about showing off their largesse as it was about giving.

After a mere thirty minutes Sarah witnessed more jewels and precious metals pile at her feet than she could have possibly imagined. Not a gravy boat or questionably tasteful vase in sight. She reminded herself that none of it was meant for her. She was an imposter in the whole affair.

A scant few of the gift givers she at least recognized. Rook and his parents presented them with a lavish chess set inlaid with onyx and crystal.

When Ludo shuffled forward to gift them an impressive collection of rocks, Sarah broke into the first real sincere smile. And Jareth, to his credit, accepted it with the same grace as he had the costly treasures.

Sir Didymus likewise pledged an offer of knightly service to their honour. She highly doubted he would have done the same for Rhiannon.

The goblins, and there were a fair few of them, were not to be remiss when their monarch finally got hitched. They managed a stately (if you squinted) procession of every odd and sod you could imagine. Dented kettles. Socks - none of them matching. Fur pelts that didn't look quite dead yet. And chickens. So many chickens…

As with her friends' humble but heartfelt offerings, Jareth accepted each gift with equal thanks, whether it was a half drowned rat (and they'd received three so far) or a diamond the size of a house cat.

The fairies presented them with folds and folds of fabric Sarah recognized as the same as her nightgown. Apparently they shed their wings like a snake its skin. To receive their weavings was itself a blessing.

Or so she was told.

The Goblin King kept a steady stream of helpful commentary throughout the proceedings. And it was appreciated, when she remembered to focus – somewhat difficult when his warm breath kept teasing her ear or when his hand would accidentally brush her wrist to get her attention.

And some of the gifts themselves were suggestive.

Ethereal forest nymphs performed an elaborate dance, birch leaves shimmering silver on their otherwise gloriously bare bodies.

Not to be outdone, Calliope led the sirens in a song that had half the crowd clawing at their clothes by the end. Thankfully Sarah had wisely stuck her fingers in her ears after the first note.

While a good number of the guests redressed themselves, the mountain ogres presented them with huge wheels of ripened cheese. Sarah thought it very industrious of the simple creatures, until Jareth cautioned that they used their own body secretions to make them. Of course he waited until she'd politely reached for a slice. As solicitous as he was being, he was clearly still intent on finding enjoyment at her expense.

When a rather striking couple ascended the steps and handed their baby to a horrified Sarah, he couldn't suppress a grin.

Blanching she took the bundle carefully. The couple looked at her expectantly.

"Er… thank you?"

Jareth snorted and then leaned in, stroking the child's downy head, "_I _steal the babies, Sarah. You just need to kiss them and tell the parents they are beautiful. Even when they aren't. You should probably return him now before you cause an incident with the colonials"

She flashed an apologetic and thoroughly embarrassed smile at the parents, kissed the baby's head and passed him back.

"You could have warned me," she hissed.

"Not to steal children?" he replied wryly. "And here I thought you were in the business of saving them."

"I thought… it was a strange custom to give children away or something." It somehow sounded even more inane spoken aloud.

"Hardly. We leave that to the spoiled little girls."

But then his hand settled on her wrist for a moment. His forefinger stroking the pulse at the edge of her sleeve. "Besides, you blush when you're flustered."

"Also happens when I'm angry."

"Yes, I remember. I can't decide which I like more."

Her other hand closed around his, stilling the languid strokes that seemed to skate across her very nerves. To anyone else their entwined hands might have looked like a lover's embrace. "Why are you doing this? Going through with this charade? I don't belong here and you know it. These gifts are not even for me."

"Sarah." His tone was no longer quite so mocking. "Whether you admit it or not you've earned the right to sit by my side."

"And I told you it was an accident."

"We both know that's not what I meant. Not _when_ I meant."

Her heart fluttered just a little. "Yet here I am in someone else's chair wearing someone else's dress." She was uncertain which rankled more – that she'd been forced into the debacle, or that it had all been meant for someone else.

"That was never her dress." His keen eyes traced each stitch across her body with interest. "You thought you looked out of place. You wanted something to fit the part. Something to feel powerful."

Her own dropped disbelievingly to the gown. The one that was so very goblin… so very him. "I made this happen?" They slid back to his own outfit – a perfect match.

…_and I will be your slave._

Her throat was suddenly achingly dry. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it matters to you."

She couldn't decide if his tone was wry or sincere. And then something caught her eye.

"You!"

It was only by the grace of god and a surprisingly strong Goblin King that Sarah didn't manage to physically launch herself down the dais and onto the now quivering gardener at its base.

Whether Hoggle had been planning on bestowing a gift or not, they would never know. True to form he took one look at the livid expression on Sarah's face, turned tail and ran.

"You've probably caused enough scandals in the last 24 hours," he murmured against her temple, having deftly turned her attempt at dwarficide into the appearance of an embrace. "As much as I'd personally enjoy watching you destroy Hogwart, perhaps it can wait?"

"Hoggle," Sarah replied by rote and then sniffed, because he was right. Which was just maddening in its own right and even more so because the deep inhalation had just reminded her how good he always smelled.

When she pushed back, he studied her wan face and seemingly made a decision.

"Family, friends, enemies, those that find themselves all three… We are positively overcome by your generosity. Alas it's so much, the queen is feeling faint from joy." He answered Sarah's scowl with a sly grin. "I will be happy to continue to receive your adulation while the queen rests for this evening's festivities."

There were murmurs of excitement amongst the guests. Enough that Sarah felt an uneasy foreboding take root. Jareth's expression did nothing to mollify her, even as she recognized the reprieve for what it was.

_I can be generous…_

As she made to descend the steps, he caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. Had it been from anyone else it might have been nothing more that a courtly gesture. Certainly she caught more than a few sighs. But then his eyes narrowed and his smile slanted. "Try very hard not to run away, Sarah. I'd hate to so thoroughly enjoy catching you."

She managed to make it out of the throne room with dignity mostly intact. Alone in the hallway she sagged away the cool stone wall for a moment to regroup.

"Escaping?"

Sarah immediately straightened and turned.

Morrigan regarded her coolly. The goddess looked resplendent in shades of midnight.

"Not as such. I just needed… a break."

"Yes, presentations of the gifts are always so tedious. Useless trinkets by and large. Nobody even bothers to offer a good sacrifice anymore.'

Sarah couldn't tell if she was joking. She thought likely not.

"So my peacock of a nephew spared you, did he?" Sarah barely repressed a snicker, even if the jab seemed affectionate. Morrigan was clearly rather fond of Jareth.

"Probably because I almost caused a scene."

"Again?" Morrigan's brows arched. "You are a feral little thing, aren't you?" Again, Sarah got the impression the goddess didn't entirely disapprove.

"The gifts were really just for him anyway." _And Rhiannon_.

"If you aren't prepared to stake your claim and seize your share, you'll never survive marriage."

"I think the odds are against me surviving this marriage as it is. Certainly if Lady Rhiannon has her way."

"Wallowing in self-pity?" Morrigan tsked. "And before noon?"

The arrow found its mark. "I'm sorry. I'm probably keeping you. You must be here to present your own gift to him?"

Morrigan studied Sarah for a moment; the bird on her shoulder's expression just as uncannily sharp. "I've given my gift privately."

Sarah nodded politely and then offered an awkward sort of half-curtsy because it felt owed, before turning to leave.

"I have not yet decided whether or not to give one to you."

Sarah paused, uncertain what kind of gift a goddess of death would bestow and if it was the sort of thing one even wanted.

"In the meantime I will answer one question."

A strange offer, but several questions immediately flitted through her head. _How do I break this union? Is there a way to get rid of Rhiannon? How can I get home again? _All questions Morrigan no doubt she asked instead was, "Where is the library?"

For the first time she noticed genuine surprise cross the goddess's face.

* * *

Sarah glanced up at the window, tracking the progress of the sun across the sky. Without a clock it was difficult to say how ling she'd been in the library. Two hours at least, she'd wager. The mind boggled that Jareth might still be receiving gifts.

Or perhaps he'd finished and had other matters to attend to. She certainly wouldn't admit that part of her had expected him to seek her out immediately afterwards. They it was only to be expected really. When her eyes tracked to the doors, she resolutely shook her head.

_Time is short._

Books lay open across the table before her. If she wanted to succeed, she needed to stay focused.

_Find the right words_.

When Morrigan had thrown open the doors to the space, Sarah had stifled a gasp. The Goblin King liked books. Or at the very least he collected them. The walls were lined two stories high with thick leather bound tomes in neat rows that belied the chaos just outside the walls. The room was panelled in a rich dark wood and outfitted with leather chairs and couches. A great stone fire place took up one portion of the room, while tall glass windows dressed in thick brocade fabrics occupied another. Otherwise every inch was entirely devoted to the written word. A few tables were spaced throughout the centre of the room.

She'd despaired of even finding a library, now it seemed her task was to find the proverbial needle in the haystack.

Perhaps her expression said as much, because Morrigan had merely canted her head thoughtfully and then disappeared.

Sarah immediately began scanning the shelves nearest to her, stomach further sinking when she realized many were in languages she could not read. She pulled one at random and flipped it open, hoping there was some sort of magic translation spell in effect. She was staring at the page so intently, silently wishing the words to reform into something legible, she didn't hear the steps approaching until they were upon her.

"Ah, I see you've a keen interest in the mating rituals of swamp trolls."

Sarah looked up – and then down – into the bespectacled eyes of what should only surmise was the librarian. She thought he might have been have been a sort of goblin, though it was difficult to tell under all of his white hair. He reminded her a little of the Wiseman, though without the snarky hat. His long beard was laden with items he'd either dropped in it accidentally or had deliberately inserted for later use. A feathered quill here, a pot of ink there, a half eaten ham sandwich that was slowly going mouldy. And something else seemed to be moving just below the surface.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I said I see you've an interest in the sexual reproduction of swamp trolls." He nodded at the book in her hands. "Are you planning on breeding them? I can suggest some more technical sources."

Sarah blinked slowly and then looked down, refocusing on the page. What she'd initially overlooked as some type of cuneiform or hieroglyphics were in fact a series of illustrations. Rather graphic ones upon closer inspection that seemed to involve a lot of slime. At least she hoped it was slime. She shut the book and returned it to the shelf immediately.

"Uh, no. No, I'm not."

The librarian sighed. "No one ever is."

Sarah plastered her most winsome smile on her face. "I could use your assistance though, most gratefully in fact."

"Really?" He looked dubious. "But no one ever asks me for anything anymore."

"I'm looking for books on the laws of this land. Particularly as they apply to this kingdom. And really, to be specific, on… on marriage."

"Marriage?"

"Yes, you know, laws about getting married," Sarah's voice dropped, "laws about ending marriages. If possible, in English."

When the goblin continued to stare at her quizzically, she chewed her lip. "Or in Spanish? I could maybe manage Latin?"

He tapped his chin. "What a strange thing to ask for," he reached past her and pulled a book from the shelf, "especially when you could study the migratory patterns of rocks. Not to spoil the exciting conclusion, but they have none."

"Yes, while that does sound particularly gripping, if you could instead help me find those other books, I think I'd prefer to read about that. And even better if you'd not mention to anyone I asked for them."

The librarian looked around the empty library pointedly, and then polished his spectacles with his beard. "Who would be interested in knowing that the new queen, not more than a day after she brutally stabbed her predecessor-"

"She tripped actually. On the knife. Herself."

"Is," he continued meaningfully, "suddenly interested in researching marriage laws?"

Sarah's smile wobbled slightly. "Just a bit of light reading?"

In the end he obliged and left her to her own devices. She rather got the impression he was pleased to be of use. Sarah thanked him sincerely and profusely – having long ago learned that keeping librarians on your side was the real secret to success. When he left her he was fairly blushing and she thought she even caught faint purring from the recesses of his beard. Without being asked he'd also provided her with much needed paper and writing tools.

But that had felt like hours ago. Sarah paused again and scanned the large space – somehow both impossibly vast and yet entirely inviting – as only the very best libraries managed to be. It was perfect, she gratingly admitted.

She'd managed to fill several thick sheets of expensive-looking parchment. It was by no means a success but she felt more prepared than she'd been. She closed the final book in her small stack and approached the small desk tucked into the corner.

"Thank you again." She set them down carefully.

The librarian replied fondly, "Do come back again soon."

Sarah didn't have the heart to tell him that was highly unlikely.

"Tell me," she started to ask before she thought better of it, "does Jar-does the king come here often?"

A shrew look flashed in the old goblin's eyes. "His Highness is an avid reader indeed. Seeing how he is one of the few literate fulltime residents in the castle, I'd say he's been my sole companions over the years. Until you of course."

An image of the Goblin King reclined on one of the couches rose unbidden. "And what does he like to read?"

"Everything."

Sarah scanned the extensive shelves again. "Everything?"

"He's read it all and so the collection keeps growing. Naturally, I expect I will see less of him now that he's settled down and will be otherwise engaged. Or perhaps I will now see you both. From time to time."

Once back in the empty hallway it struck her again that Jareth was either still occupied with gifts or, more likely, he was not in any hurry to seek her out.

She should be relieved.

She wasn't.

Hadn't he vowed to seduce her? _Fully intended to convince her otherwise. _Or something like pretended not to remember the exact wording.

Was it wrong to feel _just a little_ disappointed even if she fully intended to reject him and thwart his plans again?

By sheer luck, she managed to find her way through the castle and back to the master suites. As she approached the ornate doors leading to her room, the Goblin King's opened on their own.

Sarah steeled herself for an encounter with the king and instead came face to face with the Lady Rhiannon.

She immediately tensed defensively but the fey lady offered her nothing more than a delighted smile. One hand trailed across the neckline of her robe – deliberately Sarah would later consider – drawing attention to the fact that she was dressed in little more than a robe.

"You must wonder what I am doing here." Rhiannon's saccharine tone suggested she very much hoped Sarah was wondering just that. "Of course these were intended to be my rooms, weren't they?"

When Sarah refused the bait, Rhiannon affected a rather unconvincing contrite mien. "Pardon my brief intrusion, I was merely checking to see if my personal _gift_ had been received and appreciated. Certainly appears to have been. I was going to give it as a troth to my husband last night, but then… well. Seemed a shame to return to it." Rhiannon inclined her head and brushed past Sarah before she could collect herself to respond.

Frowning she took a few hesitant steps into the room and then wished she hadn't.

Lying in the middle of the great bed was a naked woman.

The woman was asleep, long limbs tangled in the rumpled sheets. Her full breasts rose and fell with even breaths. Her smooth skin was littered in marks.

From teeth, Sarah recognized.

Her eyes tracked down involuntarily. She was completely bare between her thighs. Sarah could see the slickness drying against her folds.

More by her mouth.

Sarah backed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her. She numbly walked to the doors leading to her own rooms. Inside, she dropped her notes on a table and then caught her reflection in the tall mirror.

A Goblin Queen indeed. She began tugging at the elaborate bodice to remove it.

"Did you know there is a naked woman in your husband's bed?"

Sarah spun and swallowed back a scream. Calli was sprawled across her bed, head propped in her hands, like she'd been invited to a sleepover.

"As a matter of fact I did. And you and I _really_ need to talk about boundaries and personal space"

"Oh, did you put her there?"

"I most certainly did not." Sarah pulled a face. "It would seem she's a gift from _the Lady_ Rhiannon."

"What a thoughtful gift considering she hates him and wants to turn you into a rug. And all I gave you was a song."

Sarah tugged again angrily at the bindings on her dress.

Calli sat up, her head tilting thoughtfully. "You're jealous."

"Am not."

The siren snorted. The delicate sound was like waves cresting. "You _are_! Oh, this is just delicious."

Sarah finally managed to extricate herself from the dress and started to pull it down. "Do you mind?"

Call smiled beatifically. "Not at all."

Huffing, Sarah stepped out of the heavy gown and moved to the wardrobe in her shift. When she threw open the doors it was empty.

Clearly Rhiannon had done more than drop a naked woman in the Goblin King's bed.

"And now I have no clothes." They weren't hers anyway and most of them were hideous, but still.

"Such a pity." The Siren sounded anything but sympathetic. "I suppose it's a good thing my cousin thought you might like your own." She pointed a delicate finger at a stack of boxes. "But please don't feel the need to get dressed on my account. Clothing is very overrated."

Sarah's grudging relief was evident as she examined the stash. The first lid revealed an absolutely ethereal looking gown in midnight blue. It had a shimmering overlay of crystals such that when worn it no doubt gave the illusion of a night sky. They were other gowns, equally stunning, in hues and cuts Sarah had to admit were appealing. A fine cloak lined in the softest silver fur. More simple garments, but just as finely made, in silks and cotton. Another box revealed a pair of leather trousers – the hide so smooth it felt like butter. A sleeveless leather vest accompanied it, cut asymmetrically and embossed with ornate spirals. A fawn shirt completed the set.

She pulled the items from the last box, stared pointedly at Calli – who naturally ignored the message – and then ducked behind a decorative screen. The pants laced up the legs so that they hugged her form impeccably. The vest, while not as tight as a corset, managed to accentuate her narrow waist and lifted her breasts to their best advantage. The sleeves of the fawn shirt tightened on her wrists and then flared out over her palm in points. She considered herself in the mirror.

"You see? What a thoughtful spouse. I'm certain he'd much rather keep you naked."

"He has naked ladies to spare these days, it would seem."

"Careful, Sarah, your jealousy is showing." Calli's reflection circled her face. "Just here."

Sarah pressed a hand to her head and turned. "I'm not jealous. Not the way you think. And I am fully aware of how hypocritical I sound right now. It's been… a trying twenty four hours." _God how had it been only 24 hours? _"I'm also not an idiot. I know Rhiannon was trying to rile me." _Too bad it had semi-worked._ "And… it wouldn't really be my business what he does with his… his _gifts _anyway." Not when she was fully planning to return to her life above. "I'm just concerned for the poor girl, that's all."

"The _girl _is a nymph from one of the pleasure houses and I guarantee she's been more than compensated for her expert skills. But you absolutely _are_ an idiot if you think he did anything with her." When Sarah merely stared at her dubiously, the Siren sighed. "Now I'm bored and I think I've done enough of my duty to my cousin for the day. Even I only like him so much." She rose from the bed and stretched gracefully. "You run along and find your errant husband. I do recommend you cloak your jealously though. He'd enjoy it and you seem determined not to give him any pleasure. In the meantime I'll do you a favour and graciously take care of the naked woman in his bed before he even needs know about it." Calliope backed through the adjoining doors and winked salaciously before closing them.

* * *

The spiteful part of Sarah wanted to do anything but find Jareth. The curious part of her wanted to know what exactly had him preoccupied, hopefully so much so that he had not been back to his bedroom.

The latter part won the battle and after asking a few guards, she found herself in the lower levels of the castle before a set of simple doors. She pressed an ear to them and upon hearing a confusing muddle of grunts and clanging, she opened one enough to peer inside.

Jareth and Cern were fighting.

Or to be more precise, they appeared to be duelling and had been for some time if their flushed skin was anything to go by. And there was a startling amount of it on display.

Without thought, Sarah slipped into the room. The stone walls were lined with all manner of weapons, while several practice dummies stood out of the way in a corner. The space was clearly meant for sparring. Several well-dressed wedding guests sat on the benches skirting the periphery. They seemed to be placing bets – gold coins changing hands periodically and wine flowing liberally.

Still unnoticed, Sarah kept to the shadows, conveniently obscured by a rack of lethal looking swords.

Not that she was paying any attention to the fine weapons.

They both moved almost too fast to follow. Their feet and hands so in tune it was almost a choreographed dance. Their blades connected and then arced away again. Attach. Parry. Thrust. She was no expert in fencing, but she gleaned they were evenly matched enough to make it a show. Their movements were precise and circumspect. No display of flashy bravado, just pure skill and raw talent.

Cern had discarded his shirt completely and was dressed only in buckskin trousers and boots. He was larger and more muscled than Jareth, though still on the lean side. The tanned skin of his torso was covered in archaic tattoos of stylized animals. Sweat beaded across his chest and his dark hair clung to his neck and shoulders.

The Goblin king looked only a touch less wild. He still wore his white linen shirt but it was hanging open in loose folds. It clung to his skin in patches, nearly transparent. His black trousers sat low on his hips and without meaning to Sarah tracked a bead of sweat as it slid beneath the waistband. His skin was paler and his muscles more lithe, but it was no less impressive to watch him move.

Both looked entirely focused on winning. As their blades connected, narrowly missing their exposed flesh, it was almost terrifying to watch. Periodically one or the other or both would break into a grin, as though pummelling the hell out of each was fun.

Cern feinted, spun and then lunged towards the Goblin King's core. Jareth, clearly anticipating his cousin's move, arched backwards, the blade just nigh of skinning his chest. He snapped back up and went straight on the attack, dropping his sword from his right to left hand and bringing it flush against his cousin's heart.

Both stilled, panting heavily.

"Your point," Cern grated. "You've been practicing."

"You've gotten lazy. Beasts don't put up as much of a fight."

"They talk less though. That's in their favour. Next point wins?"

The Goblin King lowered his sword. "So quick to end this? Growing tired of losing, old man?"

"Hardly. But not all of us need to relieve pent up sexual frustration. You might save some energy for tonight's hunt if you're smart. Though I'd say either way you are looking forward to another cold bed and colder cheek from your wife."

"And I've heard tell it's only the sheep keeping you company these days, Cern."

The hunter gave a mock bow. "I've no complaints. Let me know if you want me to try and warm her up for you."

That did it apparently.

Cern barely had time to raise his sword to deflect the next blow. His boots scraped across the floor as he skidded back. He feinted again and recovered in a crouch. As he shifted to attack he locked eyes with Sarah, grinned briefly in pleased acknowledgement before trying to make her a widow.

Jareth and Cern's bodies collided as they each gripped the other's sword arm.

There were several murmurs of appreciation from the audience. She told herself she was only admiring their skill. Clinically.

"Say, what was the name of that dark-haired beauty you won in our last duel?" Cern asked through gritted teeth. "If I recall correctly you could barely walk the next morning. Looked quite a bit like Sarah now that I think about it. Perhaps you should pay her a visit if your bride continues to reject you."

The strange change in topic caught Jareth off guard and his grip faltered. Cern used it to his advantage and twisted free, slashing the blade a hair's breadth from the Goblin King's throat.

Sarah reflexively gasped; hands flying to her mouth.

Jareth deftly sidestepped the beheading but hearing her reaction, he turned, eyes finding her startled face.

Cern seized the opening and ducked behind the Goblin King, brining his blade back around to his throat. "That's my point, I believe, cousin. And the match."

Jareth kept his gaze locked on Sarah, even as he knocked the blade away. "I suppose it's only fair you win one now and again."

The crowd applauded, coins passing hands with more than a few grumblings.

Cern laughed and stepped away. He bowed first to the guests and then, eyeing Jareth, approached Sarah and took her hand in his. "I dedicate my victory to the loveliest woman in the room." With a grin at his now thunderous looking cousin, he pressed a kiss to her hand. "He'll probably try to actually kill me the next time but it's worth it," he whispered jovially.

The Goblin King made a brief hand motion and the onlookers dutifully filed out, a few slapping Cern on his back in congratulations. The hunter looked like he might try to remain until Jareth shot him a particularly dark look.

Only when silence filled the room did Sarah manage to drag her eyes back to him.

She opened her mouth and closed it, watching as he picked up a towel and mopped his brow. The sword was still loosely clasped in his left hand.

Jareth set the cloth down again and considered her. His expression was inscrutable.

"You fight well," she said finally. The silence was so much worse.

He inclined his head. "And I would have won."

She wasn't sure if it was a point of pride or a statement of fact.

"Yes, sorry about that."

He took a step forward. "Sorry you were concerned for my safety?"

"It… just startled me."

"Liar," he laughed gruffly and then his lips twitched. "Did you enjoy the library?"

Sarah's mouth snapped shut, before opening again. "Spying on me?"

He took another step forward. "You'll find I know most everything that goes on in my castle."

Considering how sweaty he was he should have smelled like a locker room. Instead all she could detect was the unique scent that was his – magnified if anything – and it enraged her. She canted her head defiantly. "Then yes, I did. Almost as much as I did the naked woman in your bed."

"A naked woman, you say?" If he was surprised she couldn't tell, and she'd been looking. Studying his face for so much as a flicker.

Sarah folded her arms and affected a nonchalant attitude. "Mmhm. A nymph from one of the pleasure houses I believe? She looked thoroughly exhausted."

His lips twitched again as he took another step forward. "Well then. Let's hope she's had time to rest."

Sarah stepped back and motioned to the door. "In that case don't let me keep you."

"I had no idea you'd be such a generous wife." And then he chucked her under the chin.

She wasn't sure if it was the lack of sleep, the forced marriage, the naked nymph, the idea he was enjoying her discomfort, that she was hungry, or the fact he might actually expect that kind of arrangement from a wife. Any wife.

It was probably the chuck under the chin though.

"Go fuck yourself," she snapped sourly.

"Fuck me yourself, you coward."

And then he deftly tossed a sword into her startled hands.

* * *

**Credit:** I cannot take credit for the final two lines. Saw it in a meme and I hads to have it, Precioussss. Shit, I plan to use that in real life!

Just some light reading is an obvious shout out to Hermione.

**AN:** Sorry for the wait. Hope you are all still hanging in there with this! I'm super looking forward to the big festivity next chapter… *rubs hands gleefully*

Of course I needed to get Cern and Jareth half-naked and make them sword-fight. That's how I roll.

Another update for _another_ story in the works. No, no, for real this time!


	8. The Duel

"The next time you try to seduce anyone, don't do it with talk, with words. Women know more about words than men ever will. And they know how little they can ever possibly mean."

**William Faulkner**

* * *

Sarah awkwardly caught the sword and then, eyes widening in belated understanding, watched as he moved to the weapon's rack to choose another.

The sword was lighter than it looked but was still an entirely alien feeling in her hand. She'd done a bit of choreographed fencing for a school play but she was not at all confident in Ms. Lawson's instruction. Nor did she think it was in anyway innate like riding a bike. She tested the edge carefully, breath catching just a little at how easily it sliced. A thin line of red welled up almost immediately.

"I'm not here to fight you."

"I find that difficult to believe." Jareth countered with a brief grin. "I hardly think you came here to surrender." He walked away but only to turn and position himself into a defensive stance. "Try a sword instead of words this time."

"It's not a fair fight."

"It wasn't with words either. And whoever said anything about fighting fair?"

"I'm _so_ not doing this." But there was a part of her that really wanted to. That imagined disarming him and snatching victory again, this time with a blade pressed to his throat. The idea was alarmingly appealing if she were honest.

Of course, realistically that was a pipe dream. He'd absolutely mop the floor with her. She didn't _think_ he'd hurt her physically but her pride would certainly take one hell of a blow. He'd enjoy that far too much to give him the opportunity.

Perhaps he read her decision on her face.

She barely saw his weight shift from one booted foot to the other, before he was upon her. She shrieked instinctively and ducked behind a pillar.

Laughter echoed about the room, and oh, how that rankled.

It was his fault she was even in the whole situation. Or maybe it was Hoggle's, but she had enough blame to spare.

"This is all your fault," she called. "I have every right to be angry."

He gave a protracted, long-suffering sigh. "Are we still complaining about that? The wedding was yesterday. Why don't you come out and play, little mouse."

Sarah's grip tightened, and she pressed back into the pillar as she tried to place where he was behind her. "Mouse? So it was a mouse that beat you? Wrecked your kingdom?"

"What a pity. Having to rest on past accomplishments. By all means then, show me your claws." He slashed into the stone a scant inch away from her face. He'd missed by design, she thought. Hoped.

She shrieked and ducked away again, this time turning about face to keep him in her sights. "Do you try and behead all your wives?"

"Only when they ask for it so sweetly." He matched her step for step. "And you're my first."

He was backing her into a corner, she realized. Corralling her. _Well, come on feet_. "And your last."

With the element of surprise on her side, he has to deflected her blow rather than avoid it. Their swords connecting sent a shockwave up her arm. "In that we are agreed."

Sarah pulled a face at him through the crossed blades. "I meant it'll be hard for you to marry again with a sword through your chest."

"I'm more than delighted to let you try." And then he kissed her. Not the deep, searing, under-your-skin kind he'd done in the breakfast room. No, just a teasing brush of lips across hers and then he was gone again. Before she could slash out at him clumsily – which she certainly tried. He offered her a rakish grin of complete non-apology. "There. Now you have something recent to be angry about."

And she was. Mostly. There was also a sliver of her that had flared and sparked at the brief contact. A spark that had shot through her body, electrifying the most primal parts.

She recovered her positioning, taking up a stance that she vaguely remembered from school. "Your attempts at seduction are as skilled as your army."

His eyes flashed. "I haven't even tried yet." And then he lunged. She knocked the attack away, having remembered to adjust her grip so the blow didn't raze its way through her muscles. She'd still be sore later, she suspected.

And then she feinted into a counterattack immediately, banking on sheer surprise again. He had anticipated her, however, and easily slipped around her. She felt the flat of his blade slide along her neck. The metal was cold but gentle. Teasing. The mockery of a caress.

He was playing with her. Like he was fighting a child.

She supposed her skills were no better.

Ultimately, she was thankful they had no audience. His expression was faintly patronizing and she realized she very much wanted to scrub it from his face.

"You'd be in trouble if I actually knew how to fight." Their swords connected again and slid apart. "Widowhood a distinct possibility."

"I could teach you, you know." The words were soft compared to the clash of steel, but they slashed through her defences. "I've no doubt you'd be formidable if trained." There was a sincere slant to his offer that Sarah found reluctantly compelling. A ripe carrot being dangled to a suddenly hungry rabbit.

Or maybe it was a peach.

It was impossible not to recall the agile way his body had moved when fighting Cern. He'd not bothered to do up his shirt and her eyes slid to the expanse of toned skin on display.

They were old adversaries in a new game.

A shift in his stance suggested he'd become aware of her scrutiny.

She refused to look at his face and instead went on the attack again. He sidestepped her again, his sword grazing along her inner thigh this time. The leather blunted the feel but the intimacy of the touch was in no way deniable.

"Always use your opponent's distraction against them."

Sarah turned back, her face contorting in outrage, even as her legs trembled and reset.

"I somehow don't remember you using _that_ move on Cern."

Those mismatched eyes flashed again. "It doesn't seem to have the same effect. I wonder why?"

Sarah stabbed towards him and missed, momentum almost carrying her into the practice dummies.

He tsk'd. "Never make a forward thrust. You almost always open yourself up to a counter attack, unless your opponent is much weaker than you."

Sarah growled at him in annoyance, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

"And keep your elbows bent. I could have disarmed you a dozen times by now."

"Then why haven't you?"

"Perhaps I'm not ready to yet." He circled her again. "Perhaps I enjoy seeing what you'll do next."

She snorted. "No you're just laughing at my efforts. I can't be much of a challenge. Why not just end it?"

He locked her blade, and then hooked her ankle so that she landed hard. His free hand caught the back of her head before it bounced off the stone floor. His knee came down between her legs, so close she could feel the heat from his thighs at the apex of hers. His sword hand pressed hers into the stone above her head.

"I can." His eyes dropped to her mouth. "If you ask me nicely. And you have no idea how much of a challenge you are."

"No." Her words were strangely thick. "I won't." _Ask him nicely._

A smile curled lips over uneven teeth. "I thought not."

He released her and stood, his knee grazing her core more firmly as he moved away. He held a gloved hand out to her. "I might like the prospect of you helpless, but I've never thought you weak, Sarah."

Her breath hitched, whether at the intimate contact or his words, she wasn't entirely sure. Not knowing made her angry.

She took his hand and allowed him to start pulling her up, and then dropped dead weight. She used his distraction to bring her own sword up in a blow. When he deflected it as expected, she raised her foot and aimed a kick at his groin.

He only narrowly avoided, body tipping backwards, which meant her sword slid free from his block and sliced through his shirt, gifting him a shallow cut beneath.

The Goblin King pressed a hand to it in surprise, looking back up in time to catch the unmistakable look of pride on her face.

The one he returned her made her breath hitch again, and she belatedly realized she was panting. She was tired yes, muscles straining from foreign movements, but she'd never gotten the same rush fighting Paul O'Meara in Drama class. And that was when her hormones had been their height and he'd been everybody's crush because he played guitar.

Right after her time in the…

"That's going to cost you."

Sarah took a hasty step back. "You said it wasn't fair. Shall we call it a draw?" And then because she couldn't help herself or maybe because she'd started to enjoy herself too, she added, "I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

She squealed in sincere fright when she felt his sword slice along her skin. He'd moved faster than she could see. She both heard and felt a popping sensation. Her leather vest sprang open, neatly sliced down the middle.

She pressed a shaking hand to her stomach but he'd done it with such surgical precision, there wasn't a mark to be found. "Hey," she exhaled unsteadily as she fingered the ruined leather. "I actually liked this."

"You're welcome. Ask me nicely and I'll get you another."

The vest for all of its aesthetics, had also worked like an undergarment to keep everything in place. With nothing more than the fawn shirt, she felt somewhat exposed. When she sprang out of the way of his next attack, she felt her breasts bounce beneath the loose linen folds.

She was not the only one to notice.

His eyes dipped, tracking the movement like a predator getting the first scent of blood. Heat suffused her face. _Always use your opponent's distraction against them, _he'd said. She moved towards him like she was readying her stance, and shifted her weight more than she needed to make them bob again. When she saw his lips part, she lunged to the side and slashed her sword down. It was not a skilled attack in any way but he was slower to deflect it than normal. When he did a small lock of silvery blond hair floated to the floor.

His expression turned positively wolfish. It was a mixed look of fury and naked lust her body immediately responded to. And not in the way she intended if the rush of damp heat between her thighs was anything to go by.

She held her hands up, warding him off. "That was an accident." It occurred to her that the fight wasn't fair for him either. She was quite capable of hurting him by sheer luck; she'd certainly not been pulling her strokes, while he was carefully controlling his blows to ensure she suffered no real injury.

It was something she could potentially use to her advantage.

The next snick of the sword was a blur along her outer thigh. She realized he'd severed part of the laces holding her pants closed. Another snick and a blur, and the blade neatly split her shirt. Her free hand scrambled to keep it closed at the first whisper of air on skin.

"What a pity." At her own furious glare, he affected a shrug of unrepentant satisfaction. "It was an accident."

Naturally it meant she was at more of a disadvantage, having to keep one hand on the remnants of her shirt while she deflected his blows.

It also meant she tired faster, and she could feel the sweat begin to slide down her flushed skin. And then came the half-remembered feel of slick bodies pressed together, water lapping against a pool. A mouth against her folds. Her body clenched and she realized she needed to end the game before she truly lost.

Sensing her shift, Jareth renewed his attacks with intensity. Each blow sent her backwards and she recognized he was no longer pulling his punches to the same degree. One-handed she couldn't keep her weight off her back foot. She vaguely remembered her drama teacher advising that if you kept your opponent on their back foot they were always at your disadvantage. Of course, that had all been for choreographed fights. Where you knew in advance who would win. When you knew what would happen next and everyone had hard limits.

Her pants were splitting with each step. And then her back connected with the solid weight of a practice dummy. Her arm trembled from the strain of holding back his attack. Under any other circumstances she would have used her second hand to help hold her defence, but doing so meant letting go of her ruined shirt. As well he knew, she suspected, though she could glean nothing from his expression.

Straining under the effort, she finally grasped his wrist with her other hand, their arms were locked above their heads. She ignored the feeling of cool air skate the valley of her breasts down to her navel. If she moved too much in any direction the shirt would fall open completely. His eyes stayed on her face, but she doubted it had anything to do with courtesy. He was studying her. There was a note of approval at her unwillingness to back down, even so disadvantaged.

And then he twisted her wrist and her sword clattered to the stone floor. She made a move to clutch her shirt again but he stepped back and his sword dropped to her throat. She swallowed shallowly against the blade, her hands splayed open to indicate she had no intention of making a sudden move.

The tip skated down, just lighting grazing the hollow of collarbone, and then further still, drawing a line between her breasts, still precariously covered by the open folds of her shirt, until it met the leather waist of her pants. She'd followed it's descent, transfixed, and them her own eyes rose to meet his, dark and hooded and suddenly far too intense.

She attempted to sidle away, but he was faster. He lunged into her and the sword sank in fully, robbing her of breath. Incredulously, she looked down between them to see the hilt protruding between her thighs from the dummy at her rear. Faintly she could hear sand escaping to the floor. The handle of the blade, still warm from his touch, rested in such a way that she was straddling it. Unless she stayed still and on her toes, it pressed against her centre. Every time she shifted it managed to rub against her in just the right spot.

He was so close she could smell him, his usual scent a little more musky but still far too appealing. He leaned in further and she held her breath. Her hands fell to he bare expanse of his chest – ready to push him away if he kissed her. She was strangely disappointed when he didn't, his mouth instead brushing every so lightly against the sensitive lobe of her ear.

"Say it, Sarah."

Her hands tensed against warm skin.

She didn't need to ask to know what he wanted to hear. _You win_.

Gloved hands fingered the folds of her shirt, the tips skimming the soft skin of her belly. He could part it so easily. She squirmed and then stilled, because every movement meant the distracting friction of the sword. She was caged between the dummy and the Goblin King.

"Say it," he urged again, his tongue coming out to taste the salt of her neck. Her eyes fluttered shut and her thighs squeezed shut, chasing a feeling she couldn't help.

In the end it was his own words that foiled him.

_I've never thought you weak, Sarah._

That and the more immediately apparent sound of a door opening.

"Oh, sorry, am I interrupting?" Calli did not sound in the least sorry.

Sarah clutched her shirt closed, his hands resisting for a moment before he relinquished his grip. She only caught his expression for a moment, but she could hear the not-so-latent fury in his voice as he turned. "What. Do. You. Want?"

From over his shoulder, Calli was smiling beatifically. "It's time for the banquet. Wouldn't want to do the hunt on an empty stomach. Oh, my, you've cut yourself."

Jareth glanced down at the red stain on his arm. Sarah pulled herself free from the sword and stepped around him, her hands trying to subtlety keep her shirt in place.

"And oh my, look at your poor clothes. I'm not sure either of you can be trusted with sharp things anymore."

"Calli, and I say this without any trace of familial affection because I have none, I will have you strung up by your ankles in an oubliette if you don't leave right now."

The siren tapped a finger against her mouth thoughtfully. "Mmm, tried that once. Would not recommend." She affected a half curtsy. "But I'd be remiss if I didn't collect you in enough time to be anointed." Her eyes flicked to Sarah. "I'm certain you're hoping for a successful hunt considering. Wouldn't do to tire her out now. Run along now. You know the rules. You made them."

Jareth cursed fluently in three languages, one of which had been dead since the pixie wars. He carded a hand through his hair, fingers pausing on the severed piece. He glanced back at Sarah.

She looked away and took great interest in the weapons on the wall.

"Oh, don't worry about her. I'll make sure she's ready. Can't have the games without her, now can we?"

Sarah's attention snapped back to Calli's at that but the siren merely winked at her, which was no reassurance at all.

Jareth offered her a final heated look, which though she couldn't see, she more than felt. And then he stormed out of the room. Through the open door, Sarah could see Cern watching thoughtfully, as though concerned by whatever was going in. He followed Jareth a moment later.

"Don't mind Cern." Calli sidled up to Sarah. "He and I have a bet to see who'll get you naked first."

Sarah pulled a face, her fingers tightening on her shirt. "I don't think Jareth would be amused to know you're betting on him."

"Oh, but the bet is between Cern and me. Jareth's not even in the running. We consider him something of a long shot. Though now you make me wonder if he's not perhaps an underdog."

"It was an accident." She meant the shirt.

Calli winked again. "So was Troy."

* * *

Jareth entered his room in a thunderous mood. Cern idled in after him. He was still painfully hard. It didn't help that the taste of her skin was still on his tongue, the hitch of a fractured breath in his ear.

He wondered if she'd realized her nipples had puckered beneath her shirt so tellingly. So invitingly. The same shirt he would have had off her in another moment. He'd been so close to coaxing her to say the words he'd been desperate to hear. Instead of words of denial in a body meant to yield, something altogether more aligned.

He stripped his own shirt off and tossed it in a corner. Time had slipped him. And he suddenly resented the evening's plans. One step forward two steps back.

"Stop murdering the wall with your eyes. You asked for this after all."

Jareth speared him a withering look. "Don't think I don't know you and Calli chose your timing with deliberation."

Cern shrugged.

"And don't think I didn't notice you sent Calli in first, you coward."

"That was merely sensible. You like her better. Less chance of murder."

"I like her far less now."

"Oh, stop grousing and get ready. You smell like a kelpie in rut. And anyway, you'll have your chance tonight if you play your cards right. Lucky for you I won't be hunting. Well manoeuvered on that part."

Jareth shot him another glare, but the words soothed him a little. There was a dark thread of anticipation that uncoiled within him. One he'd kept carefully checked until now.

And then he pictured the look on her face when she'd gotten a hit on him. He stroked the shallow cut on his arm as something new formed and took shape.

A wild gambit really.

"I'd like to make a change."

* * *

Normally the thought of another banquet would have had Sarah conceiving of any excuse to get out of it. She was, however, starving. The last bout of invigorating activities, coupled with the arduous studying she'd done in the library, had her body reminding her she was only human.

Calli whisked her up the stairs to her rooms before she could ask for a cracker to tide her over. She admonished her to bathe and refresh before the evening meal and that she would be back to collect her later.

Sarah's skin was indeed caked in light sweat and cleaning would be an improvement. Thankfully when she descended to the pool she was alone. No attendants ready to strip and scrub her. She checked all the alcoves and barred the door, before she quickly undressed and slipped into the warm waters. Although cold might be preferably, she admitted with annoyance. Her body was still hyper aware and oversensitive. There was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to bury her own fingers between her thighs and chase the completion he's invariably sparked.

But was not so stupid as to get caught with fingers in the cream pot whilst in the royal bath. Remembering that Calli had mentioned something about Jareth needing to be anointed meant that he might require the services soon too. Would he have a bevy of fae ladies to bathe him? Wash every inch of his skin as they'd done her. The thought soured her almost immediately. She glanced at the door and turned almost by rote to look at the far corner of the pool.

Unbidden she pictured him propped against the side, submersed to his waist and arms spread on the stone, watching her. The picture shifted and suddenly she was bent over the edge while he made a feast of her with his mouth.

Sarah dunked down into the water. It felt so like a memory, though she was quite certain _that_ had not happened.

When she could no longer hold her breath, she broke the surface and gasped for air. A few scissor kicks brought her back to the edge. She cleaned herself perfunctorily and exited the water, wrapping a large towel about herself tightly.

Back inside her room, she saw that a plate of ripened cheese, olives, and bread, as well as a flagon of pale wine had been left for her. A card read, 'so you don't look like a trash goblin eating at dinner. Have a nap. You'll need it.' It was signed with an ornate C and smelled faintly like salt water.

She could kiss the siren, if kissing sirens wasn't an entirely unwise thing to do. Especially when they practically exuded sex and had made it clear getting one over on their cousin was very much on the table.

Sarah stuffed her mouth ungracefully and sank onto the bed, rereading the card with apprehension. Talk of festivities. Her needing rest. She'd not meant to sleep at all but the softness of the bed pulled her under. When she opened her eyes again, the light had changed. An outfit had also been left out for her. It was not any of the ones she'd opened earlier, and it wasn't even a gown as she'd expected. The top was a long sleeveless tunic in white. It was finely made but rather plain. It had a scooped neck that would skirt her collar bones when laced up, and descend to her thighs. There were slits in the bottom half to the waist. Coupled with it were a simple pair of leggings, and a pair of leather knee boots that laced up. A wide leather belt, and simple undergarments completed the look. The belt was the only piece with any detail. It was embossed with a sigil made up of a peach, an open book and a crown surrounded by labyrinthtine knot work.

Unlike the gowns it was easy enough to put on herself. She was just securing the belt when the door opened unannounced. Calli waltzed in and made a hum of approval. Briefly, Sarah noted Calli was similarly dressed. The siren came up behind Sarah and began pulling a comb through the still-damp tresses. With nimble hands, she plaited most of Sarah's hair into a series of braids and then used them to bind the rest of it away from her face. The effect was altogether rather archaic looking, though pretty. It made Sarah uneasy.

"What exactly is going on tonight?"

Calli bopped her on the nose in a way that was somehow affectionate and patronizing all at the same time. "Come. We don't want to be late."

As Sarah turned she caught her reflection. White owl feathers had been woven through her hair.

When they reached the hall, Morrigan, Reina, and Boudicca were congregated. Reina smiled at her arrival, Morrigan offered her a nod that she couldn't tell if it was approving or not, and even Boudicca looked charitably tolerant. Immediately Sarah noticed that they were in full, resplendent sets of armour. Reina's was a gleaming opalescent white, her chest plate polished to a bright shine. Boudicca's was gilded gold, with ornate Celtic knots. Her under layer was a startling shade of blue that complimented her long flaming red hair perfectly. Morrigan, by contrast, was in stark black. Her armour was matted, seeming to swallow the surrounding light. A cloak hung off one shoulder to trail jaggedly on the floor. Her raven perched on her other shoulder, unmoving, as she stroked its sleek feathers. Her hair was coiled elaborately on her head and unlike the white Sarah had always seen, it was instead a matching shade of deep jet black. Thick, jagged lines of kohl streaked down one half of her face. She was still that strange, ethereal contrast of young and ancient but the effect was somehow more pronounced. She imagined enemies would cower at her feet.

Calli nudged Sarah forward but Morrigan held up a hand halting everyone for a moment longer. She considered Sarah with that penetrating stare, and then as though having come to a decision, she touched the skin next to her eyes to collect some of the kohl. She rubbed a straight line across Sarah's face from ear to ear, just above her eyebrows and ending just below her eyes.

It also did nothing to ease the feeling settling in Sarah's stomach.

Rather than the banquet hall where'd they supped before, Sarah was led out a set of doors into the night air. The feast, already in swing, was outdoors, with long trencher tables laden with food and drink. Musicians played music – the kind that begged for dancing and lively footwork. Lanterns were suspended from arched bowers of twisted living wood over the tables, giving everything and everyone beneath a warm glow. The feast sat before the opening of a forest of tall trees.

A general thrum of expectation and excitement permeated the air. Heads turned expectantly at their arrival. Sarah had already decided she was no longer going to be cowed by their finery, but she was surprised by the banging on the tables that greeted her from the normally refined guests. There were more than just fae in attendance, as well. All manner of underground creature had been invited to the feast it seemed.

Morrigan led them all to a long table on a small dais and seated Sarah in the centre. The rest took the remaining seats flanking her. Boudicca and Reina to the left. Morrigan and Calliope to the right. Sarah was on the point of asking what exactly was going on, when a procession from across the banquet arrived. More rhythmic banging greeted them. Jareth was accompanied by Dagdah, Reagan, Lugh, and Cern. They were similarly resplendent in their armour and robes. Reagan's armour was a mirror of his wife's, in polished black. Lugh wore colours of the harvest in golds and reds and bittersweet. Cern looked every bit a wild god of the hunt in earth tones and furs, his own handsome face was marked with slashes of kohl resembling claw marks. A helmet of horns covered his dark locks. Even the Dagdah had drawn upon his store of magic. His back was straight beneath his multi-coloured robes, and though his face was still weathered and lined, his eyes were bright.

Jareth was simply garbed by comparison to his retinue. She noted the similar tunic to hers, though his was dark. His arms were bare save for gold circlets on his upper arms. His face had also been marked with kohl - thick rings around each eyes and feathering down in slashes. His normally wild hair was tied back. The whole effect was raw. Primal. As though feeling her scrutiny, his head turned and he began his own. He paused on the marks on her face, his eyes flickering to Morrigan for a moment and then a small smile twisted his lips. He took his seat at a table that mirrored hers.

Sarah leaned back to catch Calli's attention. "What is going?"

"And spoil all the fun?"

"It's not fun for me!" she hissed, but sat up straighter when Morrigan shot them both a quelling look.

Bowls of thick, fragrant stew were set before them. Sarah wasn't particularly hungry after the spread Calli had left in her room, but a clipped command of 'eat' from Morrigan had her tucking in dutifully. The taste was delicious, full of delicately blended spices, and before she'd realized it she'd finished her bowl. She was rewarded with another nod from the Morrigan. When she reached for the wine however, the goddess placed a gauntleted hand over the cup.

Sarah sipped water mulishly. Taking a moment to look about the banquet, she noticed that several of the guests were similarly dressed in their garments. Long tunics. Boots. Pants. Minimal jewellery.

Feeling eyes upon her, she spied Rhiannon in the crowd. The normally overdone lady was wearing a white tunic much like Sarah's. Her long hair was simply braided. Swirls of war paint blue covered her face. Her lips sneered and she looked away.

She was too far away to possibly hear what was spoken at the King's table but Jareth had been conferring with Cern for some time. His own dinner lay still untouched.

Sarah turned to Boudicca, who'd always been icy but seemed uncharacteristically willing to tolerate her. "I don't suppose you'd tell me what's going on?"

Boudicca sipped her wine thoughtfully. "No one's told you then? Hmm. Probably thought you'd run."

"And should I be running?"

Boudicca returning a rare smile. Not kind by any means, but lacking in her usual acerbity. "Oh, you will be. Try to do us proud."

Before Sarah could ask anything else, Cern rose; his raised hands bringing a hush to both music and chatter.

The pulse of excitement, if anything, had heightened. Her own nerves responded. The visceral side of her wanted to bolt, but she felt Jareth's eyes pinning her in place and she noted both Boudicca and Morrigan tense, like they were prepared to hold her down if they had to. They expected her to flee.

Altogether it was clear that she was very much _not_ going to enjoy whatever was coming next. She reached for the wine again and Morrigan hissed. Or maybe it was the raven that seemed to always be staring at her.

"It is my honour to preside over tonight's festivities," Cern began. "It has been too many moons since we enacted the ancient marriage blessing of the hunt." He scanned the guests approvingly. "And what a blessing it will be on this union with so many ready to prove their worth tonight."

There was a smattering of approval of his words, glasses raised in toasts.

"A few rules before you all give in to your baser urges." This time there were more than a few laughs. "His majesty has requested no magic tonight in deference to his queen." He raised a glass in her direction.

His caveat was met with mixed reaction but they fell silent again when Morrigan rapped her cane sharply.

"You'll have to prove your mettle with skill alone. Some of you are going struggle I think," Cern added jovially. "And won't we all enjoy watching that. As in days of yore you have until midnight, when I will sound my horn three times to signal an end." Cern raised his great horn. "All who enter are here of their own free will."

Sarah made to protest but Morrigan placed a hand on her thigh – lightly and with no pressure – but it was enough to stay her words.

"And as such, all bonds are free tonight. What you choose to do with your prize is… well," he trailed off and raised his glass in another toast. More tittering and whistles followed.

Sarah's frowned at the crowd. She could still feel Jareth's eyes upon her though she refused to acknowledge him any further. This was by his request. His design. And she'd not been asked. She found Rhiannon, but the lady's attention was trained on the Goblin King. There was an avaricious look on her face that deepened Sarah's unease.

"I am a man of action, not words. So let us get right to the fun. A quarter of an hour's head start for the prey shall we say? To be sporting?" He looked to the Goblin King. Jareth nodded.

Sarah's heart beat a staccato in her ears, faster than the leather drums had played.

She wasn't stupid. The mention of the hunt had had her thinking they'd not meant animals. The sacrificial white of her tunic made sudden sense. Leggings and boots to run. A sporting chance. Ancient rites for an ancient people.

But…

As always…

Nothing was as it seems.

Cern raised the horn and a long, lowing sounded.

She'd been undecided how she was going to react. If she was going to tuck and turn tail in the other direction, grip the chair and have to be dragged from her seat, or if she was going to run and hope she could last until midnight. Foil him in his own game.

When the horn sounded she'd half risen though, perhaps decision already made. Calli stayed her with an arm on her shoulder. She'd come to stand behind her. "Not yet, Sarah. We let the prey go first. Wait for the horn to sound again to call the hunt."

Sarah watched in confusion as the fae lords and ladies wearing the dark robes stood. Some were clapped on the back by those closest to them and then they took off towards the forest – many of them laughing in delight.

Jareth locked eyes with her for a moment, their otherness all the more apparent thanks to the kohl and then took off into the dark forest.

Sarah sank back down with uncertainty, her eyes tracking back to those left dressed in white. It was a hunt as she'd feared.

But she was the hunter.

Lady Rhiannon tracked the Goblin King's departure with keen eyes.

And apparently she wasn't the only one.

* * *

**AN:** Plot twist! The response to this story has been unexpected. You guys are the bomb.

So it's new to me, but I discovered that writing physical (sexually fraught) sword fights are as much fun, if not more, than writing all that sexual tension in verbal sparring. May need to make them fight again!

Totally thought I would have gotten into the hunt by the end of this chapter but oh well, we'll get into the meat next chapter.

Have you seen the cheesy Zorro movie with Catherine Zeta Jones and Antonio Banderas? Sexy clothes cutting is all I'm saying.

The idea of Jareth getting bathed had me thinking of Coming to America and the bathing scene – "The royal penis is clean."

I'm just happy to be on a writing spree right now. Tanglewood AND this updated in a matter of days. Hoping for another update of both if I can maintain this streak. No promises (that can be used against me later).

**Public Service Announcement:** For the love of god(s), as we enter this holiday season please drink responsibly. Do no put glitter in alcohol. Repeat after me: Glitter. Is. Not. Food.


	9. The Hunt

"She was a predator – a creature of the night who rejoiced in the thrill of the hunt."

**Alan Kinross**

* * *

Sarah watched the lithe bodies disappear into the trees. Jareth was the final to fade into night, his pace measured and even by comparison.

Slow.

Unconcerned.

She burned a hole in his back with her eyes.

He'd offered her no warning of what was to come and just because he'd ultimately subverted her expectations didn't make his manipulations anymore palatable. She was getting rather tired of all the strange customs foisted upon her. Usually at her expense.

If Rhiannon's crow wasn't watching her with that unflinching stare, she'd have grabbed the flagon of wine and found a quiet corner somewhere to get wonderfully, deliriously drunk in. She'd even take an oubliette. Preferably an oubliette in fact. Forget hunting a husband she ostensibly already had and certainly didn't want.

Even if he sometimes smelled impossibly good. Always in fact. And looked at her like she was something good enough to eat.

The music had resumed, this time a fast-paced, rhythmic kind of drumming that served to stoke the sense of urgency and excitement. Several of the guests dressed in white had risen and moved to the outer ring of torches. Waiting to run. Waiting to catch. And waiting to do god knows what else once they did.

Sarah folded her arms stubbornly. They could bloody well do it without her.

"You have to hunt you know."

She glanced at Boudicca in surprise and then away again stoically.

"It would be a terrible embarrassment if you didn't. And while I expect nothing less from you, _he_ obviously trusts you'll do what is right."

"Then the joke is on him, I'm afraid." Sarah glanced sideways again. "And who said anything about right? Right for whom exactly? Why don't you run in my place?"

Boudicca laughed. "These games are not in _my _honour. Nor are they to my particular taste. Give me an army and I'll have some fun."

Reina leaned forward and offered Sarah a much kinder, softer smile. "Reagan and I no longer participate but I promise it's not as bad as you think. Not wearing your colour anyway."

Calli, who'd lingered at Sarah's rear like she still expected her to bolt, snorted. "Yes, hopefully devoted to one other. And _only _one other. Positively sickening really." But there was no sting to her barb. "I'm running."

"Mind you show some restraint this time, my girl," Morrigan warned. Her dark eyes narrowed and pinned Calliope in place.

Calli gave a dramatic sigh. "You eat one minor fae lord, one time!"

Sarah released a nervous laugh, but it petered off at the entirely sober expression on the Siren's face.

"He was delicious. I've no regrets"

Sarah supposed those pointed teeth weren't just decorative and then decided she neve wanted to think about it again.

"And anyway," Calli inclined her head to her great aunt, "I'm just in it this time to ensure Sarah keeps her head. No magic aside, with Rhiannon's entry at the last minute I've no doubt she means to make a play for him. Or perhaps take an early shot at Sarah."

"All the more reason to just sit here then. I heard Cern's words. All the competitors are supposed to be willing anyway. I'm definitely not."

"Semantics," Calli argued. "Are you really prepared to lose to that empty-headed twit? Have you no pride? The one that threatened to turn you into a rug? What do you imagine she has planned for him?"

"That seems like that's more of a Jareth problem than a me problem."

The siren hummed. "While I appreciate your attempt at looking disaffected, no one here is in the least convinced. Need I remind you of your reaction at what you found in his bed? Because I will do so. Loudly. Maybe turn it into a song and dance number and have half the crowd naked by the end. Tell me, what have your dreams been of?"

The horn sounded again, sparing her a response. Sarah couldn't stop herself from finding Rhiannon amongst the eager hunters. Unsurprisingly, she was one of the first one's through the tree line; her long limbs surprisingly nimble when she wasn't tripping over flag stones and impaling herself on knives.

Lowering his horn, Cern eyed their table, his brow furrowing. Several of the remaining guests did so as well. The hum of chatter resumed immediately and spread like wildfire.

Sarah stiffened and tried to pretend they didn't exist.

"Told you she wouldn't do it." Boudicca drummed her fingers on the table impatiently. "You owe me your last case of Ithacan wine."

Calli stuck her tongue out behind the Titian's head.

Cern, Lugh, Reagan, and Dagda approached the table en masse.

"What is the hold up here?" Old Dag took a long puff of his pipe, blowing out complex rings that should have been impossible. "I didn't scrape off a thousand years for a bit of stew and nought to do."

Boudicca leaned back in her chair smugly. "She's refusing to run. As expected."

"What? What's that? Not run?" The old god thundered incredulously, and Sarah got an inkling of his real power beneath the many coloured robes. "I warned that green boy not to shift roles. Why, in my day this would never have had happened! I've said it once and I'll say it again. There's no such thing as a good mortal."

"Except when covered in wild blueberry sauce right?" Sarah retorted and then looked appalled at her own temerity.

Cali smothered a laugh.

"Quite right, girly. You may laugh. But you're bringing shame upon the family. I wouldn't even deign to eat you."

Sarah understood that to mean it would have been a great honour. She unfolded her hands peacefully. "My intention is not shame any of you."

"It's to shame him," Morrigan replied.

Sarah didn't dare contradict. She did not think lying to the goddess of death was in any way wise.

"I think I've made it rather clear that this was all an accident. One I've been trying to undo. I'm sure you can see how hunting him is antithetical to my goal? I can't believe he didn't anticipate that." Although perhaps he did. Perhaps he knew she'd refuse. Was he hoping to be caught by someone else instead?

Her thoughts torpedoed one after another.

Fae marriages weren't necessarily monogamous, she supposed. So he might seek indulgence where indulgence could be had freely… though surely he was not hoping for Rhiannon. Boudicca had managed to strike a nerve with the pride comment. She had no intention of playing into Jareth's plans, and yet, the idea of losing to Rhiannon was viscerally galling.

Jareth was not without skills; she had to hope he could keep himself hidden until the horn sounded again. Surely he'd anticipated Rhiannon's play.

Unless he _wanted_ to be caught of course.

Though if he wanted to be caught by someone else shouldn't she be relieved? There was a part of her that found that hard to stomach. Perhaps she should just foil his plans altogether by interrupting whatever tryst he had planned and then walking away.

But that meant hunting him and she'd already decided _not_ to do that.

"What is _it_ doing now?" Dag inquired, still puffing steadily. He squinted at Sarah.

"Thinking I would imagine," Lugh replied dryly.

"Humph. Didn't know they were capable of that. Someone wake me up when it's done." And then he promptly fell asleep, his pipe still smoking.

Seven sets of eyes remained trained on Sarah in various states of displeasure and amusement. She did her best to ignore them.

"Recalcitrant child," Morrigan was the first to break the silence. "Run away then. We won't stop you."

Cern glanced sharply at the goddess. Sarah caught the look and it reinforced the idea that his family had very much been enlisted to make sure she behaved. That soured her even more.

"You don't really mean that. It's some sort of trick."

"Are you accusing me of lying?" The tone was even and quiet but each word was like a sliver of ice through Sarah's veins. The raven grew more still, its stare more piercing if possible.

"No, ma'am."

The ensuing silence was somehow worse.

She pushed back her chair in indecision, and then rose, well aware that everyone in attendance from the highest lord to the lowliest goblin had followed her move.

"They watch to see whether you are a queen or a coward," Boudicca remarked. "I know which I think."

Sarah scowled at her. "Perhaps you are all mistaken, and I am neither queen nor coward. I have been and always will be, just Sarah."

Morrigan raised a brow. Condemnation or approval, she wasn't sure.

Sarah turned her back.

"Don't you want to stay and watch what happens?" Cern's voice was light and lightly taunting by comparison. "See who drags whom back? Shall we wager on it, Calli?"

"Since I was only running for her sake, why not. I'll wager the hide of a kraken that Rhiannon nabs her prize and we drink from our cousin's skull come morning. Sadly I've lost my _last_ case of Ithacan wine it seems."

Sarah's shoulders stiffened.

"I'd take that bet. I'll wager the sap of the final silver yew that Rhiannon makes it back before the final horn is sounded and has Jareth execute Sarah himself. Won't that be a show?"

She knew they were trying to manipulate her and her ends would be best served ignoring them both. But she found herself turning back. "You're joking, right? The stakes of the hunt can't be that high? This is just for fun." Her voice lilted into a question.

"For most, yes. Different appetites are usually satiated. Bloodshed is rare." Reina glanced meaningfully at Calli. "But I've no doubt Rhiannon at the very least means to embarrass you both. It's unlikely she'd dare a move against the Goblin King. Not with Morrigan here. But a chance to make him harm you? Or himself? Or use him? Well…" She trailed off delicately.

Sarah started into a nervous laugh that none joined her in. "You're serious. This is madness then. Why would he have ever agreed to this?"

Cern and Calli exchanged glances. "It's fun, of course."

"You and I," she directed her look at the family at large, "have decidedly different ideas of fun."

"Imagine if you won though," Calli's voice took on that beguiling siren song cadence. "Powerful Fae lord at _your _command. Use your imagination, Sarah. Who says you have to play nice." She smiled widely, displaying her inhuman teeth to their best advantage.

The thought had crossed Sarah's mind.

While the whole event was more closely aligned to some bacchanalian orgy, the mention that bonds would be loosened had in fact taken root and begun to germinate. Perhaps catching him was really the key to losing him.

Unbidden she imagined the Goblin King on his knees, bound at her feet.

Dag gave a snort; something in his beard tittering in protest at the loud sound. He blinked open eyes and added more pipe weed. "What's going on now, hmm?"

"Still thinking," Lugh replied.

"Dreadfully slow creatures, mortals." Dag tapped the leaves down. "Probably why they are so tender."

Sarah felt her body shift before her mind caught up to the decision.

Boudicca caught the subtle change and her expression warmed slightly.

She glanced distractedly at all the faces, her fingers stroking a feather in her hair without realizing. "I can't believe I am even thinking about doing this."

"I can't believe you haven't left yet," Morrigan rapped her staff once. A flagon of wine appeared almost immediately.

"This changes nothing you know. I still fully intend to break this union."

Morrigan took a sip, her lip curling into what Sarah had quickly come to realize, was as close to a smile as the goddess of death ever allowed. "No doubt. What remains to be seen is whether or not you are worthy enough to manage it."

Sarah exhaled in resignation. "Well, fuck then."

Calli grinned and stretched a long, shapely leg, readying for the run. "That is the general idea."

* * *

Once through the tree line, Sarah realized that little to no light penetrated the leafy canopy above. Long past the line of torches, it was a few filtered rays of moonlight against the utter, unrelenting darkness.

Calli's eyes had flashed, iridescent and animal-like, in farewell and then she was off, leaving Sarah alone. Her willingness to ensure Sarah kept her head had apparently been to press a dagger into her hand and then flit off to find her own pleasure.

Or meal, Sarah thought glumly.

It had reminded her that as the only mortal in the fray, she was at a severe disadvantage.

She supposed she could still change her mind, but there was no way she was going back to the banquet. The guests had followed her reluctant and late entry into the hunt with avid interest. She caught whispers that she'd been seen walking through the castle in torn clothing. Sarah had forced the blush back down. Boudicca had called a final reminder not to get killed. Although more likely she'd misheard and it had been a hope she would be.

The goblins had devolved into an absolute frenzy when she'd finally entered the forest, though again she couldn't be sure whether or not they wanted her to succeed or fail.

Her father's favourite poem, often recited to Sarah's delight when she was a child, flitted through her mind:

'_Then from five thousand throats and more there rose a lusty yell;_

_It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;_

_It pounded on the mountain and recoiled upon the flat,_

_For Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat_

_Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;_

_Five thousand tongues applauded when he wiped them on his shirt…'_

Sarah carefully tucked the small but lethal looking dagger into her belt after she'd tripped over the second root. Imagine the ignominy of pulling a Rhiannon and bleeding out on the forest floor by her own hand.

_Oh, somewhere in this favoured land the sun is shining bright,_

_The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;_

_And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,_

_But there is no joy in Mudville—mighty Casey has struck out._

Using both hands she managed to manoeuvre through the forest, and spared her face any branch lashing. She found that her eyes did adjust eventually, as they always had camping.

When she still tripped a third time, she glared down. "Come _on_, feet."

The woods, despite all the fae who had entered, were preternaturally quiet. She imagined, some had been caught already, and others - long since started, were hunting somewhere deeper.

She'd gotten so used to only hearing her own movements, she actually screamed the first time she heard a voice.

"Don't go on."

Retrieving her heart from her throat, she looked around wide-eyed and whispered. "Who said that?"

"Go back while you still can."

Now it had come from the other direction.

"This is not the way."

She braced a hand against a tree to get her bearing.

"Tsha heesh, -nd, fo no smuther."

Sarah snatched back her hand when she felt the bark move beneath her palm.

"Blargh." The tree made a spitting noise of disgust.

Sarah spun around in place and realized that half the trees were talking, their knots and whirls were faces.

"Beware!" said a birch.

"Beware!" said its twin.

"I know you!" she breathed. "You were in the tunnels." She snapped her fingers. "You were the rocks."

"Did she… did she just call us 'rocks'?"

"I think she did," remarked an ash. "And that's after she so rudely shoved her hand in Frank's mouth."

"I can still taste skin," Frank spit again.

"That was an accident. Sorry. But I do remember you!" Sarah protested. "Yes. Yes, then one of you will say, 'soon it will be too late.'"

"Hey! That's my line! She stole my line!" One of the farther back trees called. It looked like it wanted to slap her but being a tree all it could do was shake. Angrily she supposed.

"I must be on the right track then. You're nothing but false alarms."

The trees let out a collective gasp.

"And you're nothing but a lost mortal running out of time," opined an old oak. "See? Rude, isn't it."

Sarah laughed good-naturedly. "Careful, or I'll have you chopped down and turned into a spice rack."

"Spoken like a true queen."

Sarah whirled at the new voice, her hand going to her belt.

Rhiannon regarded her coolly. "Planning to gut me, are you?"

"No. But I imagine you aren't here to exchange pleasantries. You've been waiting for me, haven't you?" Silently she prayed Calli was watching from somewhere close by.

"It wasn't hard to find you. You move with the grace and speed of a mountain troll."

Sarah refrained from pointing out that only one of them tripped so publicly, setting off a spectacularly ridiculous and life-changing series of events."

Rhiannon nodded at her silence. "Best to be precautious, certainly. I've no intention of harming you. Yet."

Sarah didn't release the hold on her dagger. "Then what do you want?"

"To ensure you're not so cowardly as to run away. I didn't go to this trouble not to have an audience."

Sarah's lips thinned.

"Go on. Ask me for what."

"No."

"Ah, so you are a coward then. I know where he is. I've already picked up on his trail. I just wanted to make sure you were there to watch when I have him."

It was not what Sarah expected her to say and it showed on her face. Even in the dark, Rhiannon picked up on it, her smile widening.

"You're bluffing. You don't even like him."

"I may not like him but I can appreciate a finely made male. Imagine all that power, leashed and bound to _my_ will. Between my thighs. Will you cry? Do mortal hearts break so easily?"

Sarah shook her head. "Why are you doing this? I've explained it was an accident. One I've been trying to correct. You have no cause to hate me." _Well, apart from the initial interruption that set everything in motion._

"No cause," Rhiannon mouthed. "And what of him?"

"Him? I tried to give him back. You don't even like him. Why fight for something you don't even want?"

"Because it was mine by right!" Rhiannon hissed. "You speak of causes? I have every right to want to see him fall."

"Why?" The small word seemed to echo.

"You don't know…" Rhiannon whistled. "You don't know him at all, do you?"

Of all the things Rhiannon had ever said that perhaps stung Sarah the most.

The lady chuckled and there was almost an uncharacteristic look of sympathy in her face when she reached out and patted Sarah's cheek. "I'll try to leave a little left for you when I'm through."

And then she was gone into the night again.

"She was bluffing," Sarah whispered.

"Lying to herself now," remarked the oak. The rest of the trees tittered, their rustling leaves sounding like rain.

"Forget a spice rack. Toilet paper," Sarah warned. "For the goblins latrines."

* * *

It didn't take long for her to lose Rhiannon's trail in the gloaming. Her legs had begun to cramp and she wondered how deep the forest went and if she'd ever make it out again.

The trees eventually gave way to a small stream, the water crystal-like beneath the full and naked moon. It was beautiful and Sarah, keenly aware she had little time to lose, had to stop and run her fingers through it.

She paused, still balanced on her haunches. "Jareth. If you're listening, I'm here ready to catch you. Come out. Rhiannon is after you too, you know and I don't think you want her to find you."

Nothing. Just the sound of gentle water flowing.

And then no-so-distant laughter. Sarah relaxed only marginally when she recognized it was a pair of lovers – for them the hunt was over and coming to fruition. Pun intended.

She stood, bending briefly to massage her calf with water-chilled fingers before moving on. Pretending that her body hadn't immediately remembered the feel of him against hers when she heard the tryst.

Thoughts of lust soon gave way to frustration. It was like the Labyrinth all over again. When no extra-abilities, how was she to catch a Goblin King who seemingly didn't want to be caught?

She pretended that didn't sting.

And then a flash of white through the trees in pursuit of a black tunic that blended so well into the night as to almost be invisible. She froze, until she heard more laughter and realized it was not Jareth or worse Rhiannon. The white-tunic took down the black in a sprawl of limbs. Laughter. Then the unmistakable sound of clothes tearing in a frenzy.

She pushed on along the river, preferring not to enter the forest blind again. Her annoyance and worry growing in equal measure with every step. "God damn you, Jareth, where are you?"

In the moonlight, the small scar on her hand from where she'd been cut in the binding ceremony caught her attention. And joined with Cern's words. Bonds would be loosened.

He'd meant so the night was freely given and taken. Any marriage vows put aside.

For a fleeting moment she considered catching someone else. Surely that would be a thorn in his side. But she'd had a surfeit of mercurial fae lords.

And more pressing a thought was the belated realization it might mean she was free from the invisible cord that had snapped her back when she'd tried to flee after the ceremony.

She could make her escape.

Not daring to hope and certainly not daring to question whether or not she was leaving Jareth to _her_ mercy, Sarah flexed her hand and felt for it tentatively. Closing her eyes, she tried to open herself to the bond. If it was gone so would she be.

_Run, Sarah. Find the way back home._

Her body braced and then stilled. It held like a faint whisper across her skin. Instinctively she rolled her wrist against it.

Not broken then. Diminished maybe, but still joined. But dejection quickly morphed into a thrum of anticipation. If she could feel it, she could find what lay at the other end.

She could catch a Goblin King.

And then forget Rhiannon's threats, she'd make him pay herself.

Sarah felt along the bond and then darted back into the trees. Her heart echoed the drums, drowning out those pesky rational voices that warned hunting a Goblin King might not be so wise after all. He'd be no helpless rabbit in a snare.

She passed two other couples in the primal throes of the hunt, but spared them no more than a passing glance in the darkness, nor they she. His trail was warm and growing warmer.

The next pair she crossed were not as lustily engaged. The hunter was lashing the prey repeatedly. "That is for my sister." _Thwap_. "And also my cousin." _Thwap._ "And my father." _Thwap_. "And _your _cousin." _Thwap_.

The prey was either in agony or _thoroughly _enjoying it. Sarah pushed on.

_Come out, come out, wherever you may be, Goblin King._

She stopped in a small circular copse of trees, doubling back on herself and forward again before spinning in place in annoyance. The bond was there but went no further, as though she'd reached the end of the cord.

She exhaled in a noisy huff, wanting to kick a tree, but mindful that they might be able to kick back.

_Where did you go?_ She tossed her braided head in frustration, the feather brushing her cheek with its downy softness. Her breath hitched.

_Where do owls go to roost?_

She tilted her head up and met mismatched eyes.

He was seated on a limb perhaps six feet above her. One booted leg was bent before him. The other dangled lazily. One arm was propped across his knee, and his expression was inscrutable.

"Found you," she mouthed.

But she was not the only one.

Because of course.

Rhiannon stepped into the circle, her eyes flicking to the Goblin King and back to Sarah. It was then that Sarah realized Rhiannon had never had his trail. She'd banked on Sarah finding him all along.

"I did say _yet_." Without any further warning, she lunged for Sarah, brushing past her when she ducked.

Rising again, Sarah reached for the blade only to find it gone.

Rhiannon palmed it gingerly. Without magic she wasn't as formidable a foe but Sarah didn't like her odds against her speed. "Should I peel your face or his?"

She swiped at Sarah, but Sarah ducked again, panting. Blindly Sarah threw an elbow, hissing in a mixture of gratification and pain when it clipped Rhiannon in the chin.

Rhiannon shrieked and clutched her face. "You'll pay for that. I'm going to enjoy this. Get my hands dirty. I only need leave your eyes in working order after all." She tore her gloves off with her teeth, transferring the knife as she did.

And then she immediately cried out in pain and dropped it, her face contorting in disbelief as she beheld her hand – already blistering. "An iron dagger?"

Sarah's own face, at first surprised, settled into a knowing smile. "Calli."

The blistering had not stopped, and was steadily creeping up her arm.

"You should probably get that looked at." Sarah retrieved the fallen dagger and considered it. "Before it gets worse."

Rhiannon eyed Sarah bitterly.

As though on cue, Calli appeared between the trees. "Let _me_ make sure you make it back safely." She gripped Rhiannon's hand as though helping her, eliciting another shriek of pain, but the siren was stronger than her waif-like appearance suggested. She nodded up to her cousin. "And you. At least try and play hard to get. Make it a challenge for her."

When Sarah looked back up, Jareth was gone. "Fuck."

"Only if you ask nicely." Calli called back and then fully disappeared from view, dragging a snarling Rhiannon alongside her.

* * *

Sarah caught a flash of silver through the woods, recognizing Jareth's hair. Rationally she knew she had no need to pursue him anymore. Rhiannon had removed herself from the playing board – the irony not lost on her. It would serve him right if she walked away. Unfortunately her mind forgot to inform her body, which had already decided her efforts deserved a victory.

He was too fast, but she thought he was not as fast as he could be. The Goblin King was toying with her. As he invariably always did.

That only spurred her on faster, though her body protested it was spent. She had nothing left. Another wayward root and she went down with a howl of pain, clutching her ankle. A moment later boots stopped by her. Her eyes tilted up into the concerned face of the Goblin King.

Her pained expression immediately changed, as she rocked up on her perfectly fine ankles and lunged for him, taking him down to the forest floor hard just as realization crossed his features.

Laughing wildly she pressed a palm into his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart beneath it. "Got you."

"I underestimated you again." His voice was thick and heady, his expression headier. "To the victor goes the spoils. It would seem I'm all yours, Sarah."

Belatedly she realized she was straddling the Goblin King, her hand on his too warm skin. Pale and perfect in the moonlight.

His own hands rose slowly and settled on the curve where hip met thigh.

"Don't touch me," she whispered, throat going dry.

His hands dropped immediately.

Maybe he would have anyway, but in that moment Sarah recognized the power she had over him. Hunter over prey.

She should leave him. She shifted back and found him already hard. The thrill of hunt coursed threw his veins too.

Yes, she should just leave him cold and aching in the forest. It would serve him right.

Instead she drew the iron dagger from her belt. He said nothing but he tracked it with hooded eyes. He still said nothing when she brought it to his throat.

And it was then that she realized she very much wanted him to beg.

She kept the blade from touching his skin only by a hairs breadth, her hand surprisingly steady.

"Can you break this union? Right now? If I ask?"

His face betrayed something she couldn't name and then it cleared.

"Given your recent reading tastes, I think you already know the answer."

"Shit." She had, but she'd hope. Her eyes flicked over his face and then settled on his neck. "Your death would."

"So bloodthirsty," he breathed.

"You leave me little choice." She didn't mean it. Not really. But there was a thrill in holding that over him. His life in her hands. Perhaps she was a little bloodthirsty after all.

"Rhiannon might have killed me tonight."

"She didn't. I told you I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Sarah believed him but his earnest vow annoyed her like an itch she couldn't scratch. The blade danced across his skin warningly. "I made you no such promises."

"No, you didn't." He agreed.

His acquiescence did nothing to calm her. The blade danced again. She imagined marking him. Like she had in the training room.

And then the sound of fabric rending. She sliced through the thin layer of his tunic, the folds falling open to his sides.

"For my shirt." She met his eyes, so dark in the moonlight. If she could see her own she'd know hers were darker still. They flicked down the plains of his chest, taking the time to look in a way she hadn't dared during their duel.

Fine bones. Even skin. Taut over lithe muscles.

"That's not all you want to do, surely," he goaded. And then he canted his hips and she sucked in a swift breath at the sudden intimate friction. An answering rush of wetness between her thighs. She could tell he was aware of from the smirk on his face.

It made her decision.

The knife hovered above his lips. "I didn't say you could speak. Don't do it again. And keep your hands at your sides."

His eyes flashed but he complied. Then she bent, bracing her hands on either side of him, so that her hair whispered over the plains of his torso teasingly. She exhaled against his chest watching the rise of and fall of it; listening to the beat of his heart as it increased. She pressed an open mouth kiss to the hollow of his sternum.

Emboldened but his sharp intake of breath, she trailed another and then another until her tongue flicked out and tasted the salt of his skin. And then teased his nipple, using her teeth ever so slightly. His hips jerked. Instead of retreating, this time she ground down against him; the thin layers of their leggings the only barrier. Her eyes looked up, mouth still tasting his skin.

He was watching her. His jaw tight in a way that made her feel even more powerful. She was a wolf and she'd found her teeth.

She rolled her hips again along his length, her thighs squeezing.

His gasp turned into a growl. She imagined the words he'd had to swallow back. How galling it must be.

She skated her teeth across his other nipple, ignoring the ache she was stoking in herself, before marking a line down his chest with her tongue. She pressed more open-mouthed kisses down each rib, relishing each intake of breath. Each one was a victory she added to her tally.

The only hair on his body was a light, downy line of starlight that crossed his navel and descended beneath the now straining fabric of his pants. She teased down the trail with tongue and teeth, watching as his flat stomach twitched and retracted. Her face was close she could feel the heat of his cock against her cheek.

A voice warned she was playing with fire. She extinguished it like a candle.

Sarah pulled at the strings holding his pants closed with her teeth, eyes trained on his face. His lips were parted, his breathing completely fractured. The cords of his neck strained and his hands dug into the earth at his sides. She could tell what he wanted, but she wondered what he was thinking.

She flicked her tongue to release the cord and shifted back on her heels. "I think now is the part where I leave you, Goblin King. You've been caught." She leaned over him and plucked one of the feathers from his own hair out like a souvenir. "But I'm throwing you back now. I find you're not to my taste after all. So be a good boy and stay there."

The incredulous, murderous glance he shot her would have made Rhiannon envious.

Her own body was on fire, but she rose steadily and laughed at him. She'd sort her own traitorous responses out later. In the meantime she'd relish his forced silence.

But as Sarah should have known, timing is everything.

She was only a few feet away when the horn sounded. Once.

Her brow furrowed.

Twice.

Her smile faltered.

Thrice.

She looked over her shoulder in time to see the Goblin King rise.

Her body tensed to run just as she felt arms snare around her and then she was falling. Hunter now the hunted.

She landed, cushioned by the lush forest floor.

Hands moved to her cage her head, a hard body against her back pressing her down into the earth.

And then a chuckle that was anything but amused. It skated up her spine like fingers pressing into flesh.

"Time's up, Sarah. My turn."

* * *

**AN:** Happy New Year, you delightful band of perverts!

That seems like a good enough place to end it until… next decade! *Badum tis* At least I can say I got another update out in less than a month and before 2020.

Hope you all had fabulous holidays! And if you didn't because the holidays can be a mixed bag, I hope your new year is brighter.

My H took the kids out on errands today, so this chapter being finished is really owed to him. (For those of you who peeked on FB, this was always coming today ;)

I've been terrible at responding to reviews lately (I'll get better again), so please know that they (as always) mean the world to me.

Have you seen the new Star Wars? I am a not-so-secret Reylo and a long time Star Wars fan. All the feels. End of an era. (No spoilers)

I wish you all a blessed 2020! Have a fabulous eve and let the roaring 20s begin!

**Credit:** Lines of the poem are from "Casey at the Bat"


	10. The Catch

**AN:** This chapter earns its rating for absolute filth – that's all it really is. I hope you enjoy, you perverts (AKA my kind of people).

* * *

Longed for him. Got him. Shit.

**Margaret Atwood**

* * *

Sarah struggled – the efforts leaving her panting and not in the same way as most of the other participants.

"Let. Me. Go." Each word was said into the loam beneath her. She imagined them sinking into the very soil and taking root.

He merely tsked. Another sound she felt as much as heard. "What? Not as eager to play now that you have no control?"

"I should have let Rhiannon have you." She entirely meant it in the moment.

He responded in kind. "And I might have allowed magic in the hunt. I think you would not have fared so well."

Sarah stilled. Trying not to notice how warm he was against her back. Or that he was still hard and ready.

"I won. Again." It was churlish and childish but she felt better having said it.

"Always," he agreed, almost affably. "Now surrender." This time the words rumbled against the sensitive skin of her nape. He'd brushed her braids away and she could feel his lips and teeth ghost against her pulse – sending it skittering. "You'll enjoy it if you do. I'll enjoy it if you don't."

Sarah bucked against him with all her strength, but he was heavier than he looked. _Apparently ego weighed even more than muscle._ For all her efforts all she managed to do was bring her ass into full contact with the very _large_ elephant in the room.

He hissed and this time she felt the wet heat of an open-mouthed kiss press to the juncture of her throat. Followed by the press of teeth and she realized he was deliberately leaving a mark. As he worried the skin in a way she pretended had no effect whatsoever, she struggled again.

"Shh," he shushed, the sound blending with the leaves rustling above them. His hands moved away from her head and began to work the taut muscles of her back. He was gentling her, she realized. Like a trainer might a horse, and _boy, did that rankle_. His knee slid between her thighs, effectively stopping her struggles but also rekindling the friction she'd chased only a few minutes earlier in a breathtakingly stupid decision, rivaled only by the time she'd wished away her brother.

Or followed Hoggle after a silly ring.

His own thigh was warm and firmly muscled. She realized she might have a newfound appreciation for male legs. After she'd killed him of course.

He pressed into her again, his hands fully moving now – one skimming across her neck and slipping around to cup the slim column of her throat. The other smoothing down her side to brush against the sides of her breasts.

A rush of something damp and hot and wanting uncoiled within her. She imagined him spreading her legs wider, his breath against the soft skin of her inner thighs just before he used his tongue to spear her folds.

She pushed back against him, chasing the phantom feeling, and he made a very masculine sound of approval against her throat.

_Water lapping against their bodies…_

It was the incongruity of what she was imagining – almost remembering - that made her stop.

"Shh," he hushed again, making Sarah realize she'd made a keening sound.

It re-stoked the fire of her anger.

"I'll hate you for this."

He chuckled. An edge to his voice suggesting he'd not yet forgiven her. "I thought you already did."

"Then I'll hate you more. How pathetic that you have to use some archaic hunt to get your way."

He stilled above her for long enough that she craned her head, trying to look back over her shoulder to see his expression.

"The hunt is over, Sarah. And I am no rapist."

"But…" Sarah huffed in confusion, her brow knitting. "Command me." She hoped she wouldn't regret it.

He ducked down again and caught the lobe of her ear between uneven teeth. "Give. In."

The temptation was certainly there, to pretend he _had_ control so she could rebuff him later. But the firm 'no' slid from her lips easily

He laughed like she'd entirely met his expectations.

"Then what is this?" What is this _now_, she meant. She wasn't sure there was sure there was a reasonably coherent answer for what lay between them at large. Pun intended, she thought perversely and then fought the urge to wiggle.

"It's a dance, Sarah. If only you'd fall into step."

"Maybe I don't like to follow."

He flipped them swiftly and effortlessly so that she straddled him instead. "Then lead."

He kept his hands splayed open at his side. Like he was helpless and at her mercy.

No longer a threat.

It was his biggest lie yet, she thought.

"If I recall the last time we danced it didn't work out so well for you or your ballroom." And she did recall. Had never forgotten in fact - for a multitude of reasons - many of which she was still reluctant to dissect. "I'm surprised you'd want to dance again."

"Dearest _wife,_" the inflection on the word scraped beneath her skin, "we've never stopped dancing."

Sarah swallowed dryly. "Don't call me that."

"What?"

"Wife."

His eyes were suddenly too dark. Too inhuman. Not helps by the archaic markings on his face. "Then I shall simply call you mine."

There was a savagery in him, stoked by the Hunt no doubt, that made him want to finish it right then and there. Rend clothes and spread thighs, and let the forest swallow screams.

But they needed to be screams of lust not fear.

He wanted her begging, not broken.

He wanted all of her.

There was also the matter of what she'd set out to do to him. Not that he hadn't anticipated her cruel streak. He'd dared not hope she'd come around, even when he'd spied her eyes spark from moss to flame. And yet, he hadn't been prepared for the aching sense of loss when she'd pulled away. How he'd fought the Hunt's pull of magic binding him to her commands and leaving him at her mercy.

And _his_ Sarah had none.

The thought was strangely pleasing. It freed him from showing any in return.

He still wouldn't force her. Not ever. Not when she'd shown him a willing, voracious Sarah. He'd do just about anything to get that back.

"Well?" His tone was deceptively light. Almost playful. "Aren't you going to kiss me?"

"What? No!" Sarah stopped before unconsciously licking her lips.

"How very awkward then," he chided. "It's really the greatest of slights if you don't."

She pulled a face. "To your ego or to your silly traditions?"

"You don't participate in the Wilde Hunt if you don't intend to make a meal of your prey."

He reached up and tested the plushness of her bottom lip.

"Perhaps I'll bite you then," she said against his skin.

"Perhaps I'll enjoy it." His thumb brazenly dipped between her parted lips and withdrew before she could make good on her threat. Which she certainly would have. "Seduce me if you think you can." What he really meant was_ devour me so I can do the same without your blame._

She folded her arms. "Far too easy."

He cocked a brow.

"It would be about as hard as trying to seduce Calli."

He laughed – still an overly sharp cadence to it. "Now you truly wound." And then he switched tactics, as Goblin Kings are wont to do. "I wonder if you know what you look like right now," he mused softly.

Sarah bristled, ready to be offended. "A mess, I'm sure." It had been an endless night.

"No, not a mess." He fingered a length of her braided hair, catching at one of the white feathers. "Something else entirely." He didn't say what by deliberation. Letting her wonder to keep her attention. Keep her silent and focused on his words rather than the ones she'd invariably want to hurl back.

It worked. Because she waited. Swallowed down whatever whiplash retort she had readied.

His hand dropped to her belt, tracing the intricately embossed leather motif. "This. A symbol of a victory hard earned." Limned by moonlight, he couldn't entirely read her expression, but he sensed he had her attention. "And this," he reached to touch the kohl markings across her face, "a testament to your strength. That maddening will of yours."

"Morrigan." Sarah hadn't even seen them herself, she realized. Quite forgotten they existed, though she could clearly see his.

"I know." _I recognized her hand_, he didn't add. Nor that the others would have as well. A mark of favour from a powerful and rarely generous goddess. Also a warning and a badge of claiming. Sarah was one of _hers_. Sarah would, of course, balk at hearing any of that expressed aloud.

It was not a design at all. Just a straight line of black that made her eyes all the more green. Straight and unyielding. An impenetrable wall to be reckoned with. Jareth smudged it slightly, transferring some of the powder to his fingers and scraped down.

"Why didn't you tell me what was going to happen?"

He recognized she was deflecting but allowed it.

"And give you enough time to over analyze? Run away and hide 'til it's all over? Hardly in my best interests."

"And what are your interests exactly? What are they really?"

"Fishing for compliments now?" A glint flashed in his eyes. "Are you waiting for me to profess my love?"

Awareness returned slowly to Sarah that they were having the conversation in a very compromising position. His fingers shifted and tightened on her thighs, perhaps because he'd noticed her realization.

She was no longer sure she wanted to hear his answer. "We should go back. It's over now."

A painted brow arched. "To the prying eyes of all our guests? To family?" His fingers slid inwards along her thigh. Teasing not taking. But present in a way she couldn't ignore. "I am still waiting to be seduced, Sarah."

She folded her arms again, trying to remember why she was still straddling him and not already a safe distance away. If such a thing even existed. "Does this reverse psychology bit ever work for you?" Her tone deceptively light.

He didn't bite. "Tell me you're not at all interested and I'll let you go."

There was a subtle hint of command couched in a simple request. One that should have been easy to fulfill and yet looking into those kohl rimmed eyes her words scattered. Lies would not work anyway she thought.

She licked her dry lips unconsciously. He tracked the small movement, his too-warm hands settling once again on her thighs.

She could feel her muscles twitch in response and wondered if he could as well.

Sarah tried another tactic. "I'll answer if you answer me first." He looked intrigued and allowed her to continue. "What do you want? What do you really want?"

"Ah, but that's a dangerous question for one such as I? Are you certain you want to know?"

Not trusting her voice, Sarah merely nodded.

"I'll give you one answer for now then, as there are several. Though it's one I think you already know." His low voice seemed to sink beneath her skin, eliciting an entirely physical response in her core. A pulsing wet heat that her thin pants would do little to hide. It didn't help that no underwear – by design no doubt – had been provided.

His fingers traced patterns again, edging inwards and upwards along her thighs. "What do I want, Sarah? I want to do depraved things to you." At her look of protest, he continued. "You're right. Maybe depraved is not the right word. That would imply I have the moral code to feel ashamed. And that doesn't sound like me at all."

She caught at his wrist to stop his hand, but his long fingers simply flexed – the tips skimming the seam of pants, touching just lightly enough to send an aching shiver through her. She wondered if he could feel how damp she was and her face flushed. His cock twitched in response and she resisted the urge to press down onto him to deepen the sensation.

It would be so much easier if he'd just flip them again. Take control. She was certain he could – might even want to - but was choosing not to.

One hand left her thigh and caught her chin, forcing her attention back down to him.

"The question now is would you feel guilt, Sarah? Like you'd lost? Or could you forget yourself long enough to just enjoy it and finally recognize that no one has to lose here at all."

"It's a trap." Her voice was throaty.

His thumb pressed back into her lower lip like he was feeling the words as much as hearing them.

"Love is always a trap." He delved into her mouth for a moment and transferred some wetness onto her lip. "And you haven't answered my question."

"Even if I did want you." He looked disappointed at her cowardice. "I won't complicate things. Not further. Not when you _know_ I plan to end this."

He chuckled but it was anything but amused. "A noble resolve no doubt, but it sounds to me like you're more afraid to lose your conviction." His hand returned to her thigh. "Is it so easily shattered?"

Sarah leaned down then, telling herself that she was just trying to regain the upper hand she'd so briefly held. Her own hands splayed against his chest so that she felt his small huff of surprise. "Suppose I decided I did want you, Goblin King. If only for a night. How do I know I wouldn't be irrevocably binding us?"

"Binding us further you mean. For we are bound, Sarah. If sex was all it took, half the creatures in this world would be bound to every living thing ten times over. And some not living things."

"That's Goblin King speak. Maybe it's sex and something else."

"Wise, Sarah." He didn't bother to deny it. Instead he skated his hand up along her ribs so lightly she caught herself actually straining to feel it. He stopped when the tips of his fingers skirted the undersides of her breasts. Despite being thoroughly annoyed with him and the whole situation, she suddenly very much wanted to shift down so that he cupped her fully. It would be so easy. And she wondered if he was setting another kind of trap.

For a moment she forget herself enough to rock down against his erection. He stiffened and his hands immediately dropped down to clamp onto her hips and keep her in place when she invariably remembered herself again.

Later she couldn't quite recall who had initiated the kiss, only that their mouths had found one another. He sucked wetly on her lower lip and then wasted no time delving within. She met him just as boldly, hardly caring when teeth scraped or nipped. Her hands slid around his shoulders to sink into his bound hair. He rocked up into her more forcefully, highlighting that only thin cotton separated them. His hands moved off her hips to cup her ass, angling her so that he fit more tightly against her.

She'd once been caught in high school doing something similar with a boyfriend. Before she'd been ready to take the plunge but when hormones and young, largely innocent, infatuation demanded relief. The ignominy of having her father walk in on her dry humping a boy had left a mark.

But there was nothing innocent about what they were doing and there was nothing boyish at all about the man between her legs. He wasn't even a man, she warned herself. He was the Goblin King. She pulled back enough to meet his eyes and catch a reedy breath.

"You're thinking about running away again." His voice was deliciously hoarse but she forced herself to focus on his words. She couldn't decided by his tone if that excited him or disappointed him.

"No, I-"

He pressed a gloved finger to her lips. "Nothing you do tonight will trap you, Sarah. That's not the point of the Hunt."

She believed him. Believed him enough to catch at the tip of leather with her teeth and tug. He watched her with hooded eyes as she removed his glove and discarded it. He returned his hand to her mouth and pressed a bare finger inside. She sucked on it and felt his cock pulse in jealousy. She squeezed her around him.

"This means nothing." Her voice was breathy in the silent woods. "You're an itch," she added rudely. In fact she decided she might be able to drive him wild again and then leave him high and dry. As she'd original planned. A dangerous game certainly, but one she wanted to play.

"Kingdoms have been built on less." He'd read her easily. _Challenge accepted_. Before she could protest his words he was kissing her again. Devouring. She could probably come without removing a stitch of clothing she realized. More than she could have said for that high school boyfriend and the couch her father had never been able to look at quite the same.

But all thoughts of that teenage fumbling fled when he slid a hand between them and pressed his heel into her. His other retraced the path up her ribs but this time didn't hesitate to fully cup her breast through the thin material. His mouth swallowed her sharp exclamation, nipping almost painfully at her lips. Deft fingers found her nipple though her shift and rolled it, tugging while working the whole of her breast in his palm. His other hand slid upward and a moment later she felt her belt pull free. He slid up and under her loosed tunic to the waist of her pants, tickling the soft skin of her belly. His long fingers slid down beneath the band and stretched until they brushed the neatly trimmed curls. Sarah gasped breathlessly. No barriers between them. Jareth made a raw sound of approval, almost a growl, as his fingers hit the first flush of wet heat. He smoothed it between his finger tips along her slit, not yet pressing between for her folds. Content to explore the damning evidence of her desire.

Sarah quickly realized she was in danger of losing the upper-hand. If she'd ever even truly had it. She arched back enough to work her own hand between them and cupped his thick shaft. Jareth made another inarticulate sound of encouragement. His mouth left hers long enough to suck against her neck as she stroked him.

Perhaps they could bring each other to relief without actually doing more, she renegotiated. That would be an acceptable concession.

Perhaps catching the direction of her thoughts he rolled them, managing to cushion most of the impact. The ground was much cooler against her back, her body protesting the loss of his heat. Her hand tightened involuntarily on him and he cursed hoarsely into the hollow of her neck, and then worried the sensitive skin with his teeth in warning.

The sound of fabric ripping registered only fleetingly and then he was working his hand into her tunic and tugging on the simple breast binding she wore beneath. He other hand withdrew from her long enough to cover her hand and encourage her to stroke him again. Before withdrawing he popped the ties open on his trousers inviting her to continue more intimately.

And then he'd did the same to hers, this time wedging his whole hand between her thighs. A cool breath of air against slick folds and then the heat of his palm against her. She twisted, her teeth sinking into the juncture of his shoulder to stay the sounds he so desperately wanted to hear.

His mouth found the shell of her ear. "Do you know how wet you are, Sarah?" His voice danced along her spine, somehow reminding her of his taunts her in the tunnels so many years before. "And it's all for me."

There was the expected smugness that so grated but also a kind of reverence. Like she'd offered him something tantalizing and impossible.

"Stop talking," she hissed and then squeezed him just shy of pain. He bit her then, enough to leave a proper mark. She didn't care. She worked her own hand into his pants, the back of her hand teased by his trail of hair and her fingertips meeting the velvety skin of his cock.

Ignoring her command, he licked at the bruised skin and spoke words into the mark, like he was trying to press them into her very being. "You won't be able to walk for a week."

It shouldn't have excited her, but it did and she rocked into his hand. He teased a finger into her up to the first knuckle and swirled.

Their gasps collided.

"If only your mouth was as welcoming as your body." It was maddeningly not enough. Too shallow by far. Rather than press in further he instead found the aching bundle of nerves.

Sarah actually screamed then – a keening shallow thing that she would have swallowed it back – had it not torn out of her. Rather than gloat, Jareth seemed entirely captivated. More driven and determined. He plumbed her mouth as though trying to taste the end of it.

His other hand palmed her breast roughly, with less finesse and more passion. The sounds of fabric rending. She had the feeling if he'd had access to his magic, they'd both already be naked.

Somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if she'd lost the narrative She wasn't sure her plan of dining and dashing was entirely feasible anymore.

Perhaps sensing that concession too, she felt him smile into her throat. He pressed his finger further inside her, while rocking into her palm. She wasn't sure she'd ever felt any man so hard before.

_Not a man, you fool. The Goblin King._

_Your husband._

_The wedding night you didn't have._

Her body was on fire but her mind began to spin and try to claw back the reins of control.

And then a horn blast so close it almost deafened her.

Sarah jerked, biting her tongue painfully. Jareth swore.

Both looked up into the knowing face of Cern.

"Sorry. Did I startle you?" He did not look sorry at all.

Sarah blinked dumbly. She couldn't see Jareth's face but his body had gone preternaturally still above her – one hand still trapped in her pants and the other on her breast half inside her breast band.

"I just thought you must have missed the ending of the hunt. Considering it ended oh," Cern pretended to consult the stars, "over an hour ago." His eyes roved over them both. "Oh dear. Am I interrupting?"

Jareth made another sound that was all together inhuman, though certainly meant to convey intense displeasure.

"It's just that I heard a curious scream. I was concerned something had happened to you, Sarah. Perhaps you'd drown. Been attacked by something. Or maybe you'd fallen and impaled yourself on something."

A flush suffused her face and she pushed at Jareth to release her despite the fact he was doing a fairly good job of covering her.

The Goblin King resisted for a moment and then pulled himself up and sat back on his haunches. As he removed his hands, he discreetly tugged her tunic over the open fly of her pants.

Sarah immediately rolled out from under him and got to her feet unsteadily, smoothing her clothing awkwardly. It felt like her living room all over again, but instead of a displeased father she was faced with an unrepentant fae who looked like he'd just as likely join in if they'd extended an invitation.

"Cern." The word was as sharp as a dagger. Sarah hazarded a look at Jareth's face and then immediately wished she hadn't. Though it was not directed at her, she thought he'd never looked so blazingly angry.

Even the horned god looked momentarily taken aback before recovering his signature insouciance. "Don't shoot the messenger now. Thought I'd beat the gossiping search parties. They certainly aren't far behind and you've been far from discreet. Or perhaps I was worried for you, dear disgruntled, murderous-looking cousin. You could have been the one screaming while she made herself a widow. Seems she was torturing you in other ways." He winked at Sarah, who studiously contemplated the traces of dirt under her nails.

"You might want to straighten up by the way. You've got something," Cern motioned at both of them in entirety. "Just here."

"I hope you know," Jareth's voice had evened out but his expression was no less lethal, "that I fully intend to flay you alive for this and let Calli feast on your entrails."

"My, my," Cern directed his comment at Sarah, "whatever has gotten him so worked up?" It was only the god's well-honed reflexes that helped him avoid the small _tree _that sailed past his head. "I really do think he needs to find an outlet for his frustration." And then he disappeared back into the woods as though he'd never been there.

Sarah immediately made to follow, the flush of her cheeks the only balm against her rapidly cooling body. She glanced back over her shoulder and met the eyes of the Goblin King. His hair was messed and the kohl on his face was smudged, but it was his expression that was the most arresting.

And then in a move Sarah realized she would never be able to forget no matter if she never saw him again, he slid the still-glistening fingers of his gloveless hand into mouth; eyes never leaving her face.

Sarah shuddered and looked away, doubling her pace. She was torn between feeling shame, anger, frustration… more frustration. He'd coerced her into the hunt, his family has badgered her into actually participating. And then despite best laid plans she'd gotten completely carried away and might have knocked knees with the bloody Goblin King on the forest floor, an audience on its way.

Which in its own right might have been fun, but she was currently trying to get out a marriage, not get under him in what would be a tangled mess. Theirs could never be no-strings attached. She rubbed at her wrist. Literally.

She wondered what was going through his mind though she didn't dare turn around again.

She was so preoccupied with parsing out her emotion, she tripped over one of the roots. A gloveless hand under her elbow steadied her. It was still damp from his mouth – or from her.

"Don't touch me." She didn't even mean to say it. Much less to say it in such a vicious, acerbic tone.

For a moment his grip tightened. His expression was as fraught and she saw his cheek tick in some barely repressed emotion.

He was angry. Perhaps more so disappointed. And she was horrified to realize that bothered her.

"I mean-"

"We both know exactly what you meant, Sarah. When you rationalize it all away, as you no doubt will because somewhere along the way you became a coward, do remember that once your will was as strong as mine. Once you didn't run away from things."

"That's not fair," she whispered, and then winced at the unfortunate words.

But the Goblin King had already released her and moved passed, already breaking through the treeline.

* * *

The final stretch back to the feast was no better for Sarah, now alone with her thoughts. It was no doubt noted that they arrived together but separately. There were whispers shared and she could feel eyes take stock of her appearance. She pulled her braids over her neck. Jareth briefly acknowledged a few passing greetings before finding a flagon of wine and downing two glasses in quick succession. He inclined his heads to the remaining guests and then disappeared, flagon in hand without saying a word to anyone. Not once did he look back.

Sarah locked eyes with Morrigan's watchful corvine, and then met the colder stare of its owner. What the goddess thought of their arrival was impossible to glean. She nodded once at Sarah and then withdrew. Boudicca offered her a slow clap, more likely than not meant in derision, and then laughed something no doubt unkind into Lugh's ear. The two followed Morrigan back into the keep. Regan and Reina were no where to be seen. Dagda was asleep at the table, the glamour that had shown him so impressive long gone. His beard was purring contentedly in harmony.

Only Calli bothered to openly acknowledge Sarah's return. "Did you enjoy your first Hunt?" She passed over a full cup of wine. "There you go. Moratorium on drowning your sorrows has been lifted."

Sarah accepted it. "Not particularly. Did you enjoy yours? Eat anyone this time?"

Calli laughed – another bright silvery sound that clashed with Sarah's mood. "Oh indeed but not in the way likely to cause another incident."

"So you caught someone then?"

"Several someones actually. Would have been more but I had to do my duty to ensure a certain whiny little mortal didn't die. Barely had time for more than a snack," she sighed dramatically. "Now do tell what you did my cousin after I dragged the wench away kicking and screaming. I can't say that he looked particularly please when he returned."

"Nothing happened."

Calli refilled Sarah's glass without being asked. "How interesting. Just like there's no twigs or leaves in your hair. Just like your belt isn't missing and your tunic isn't ripped." Calli's eyes flickered to Sarah's mouth. "Lips that aren't thoroughly bruised. Nothing indeed."

Sarah accepted the glass with a brittle expression.

"Ah, I see. _Not enough_ happened. No doubt Cern showed upat the worst possible moment. He never did like losing."

"I'd really rather not talk about it." Sarah sank into a chair and considered the remaining guests – most having retired or left to seek their own amusement when they realized there would be no more entertainment from the king and his wayward bride. The participants who'd returned had come back in various states of undress. Some limping and bloody. They looked like they'd had a better night than she had. Sarah didn't really want to stay but going back to her room sounded worse. With nothing but a door and a world of misunderstanding between them.

"Of course you don't want to talk about it. You'd rather be so thoroughly fucked you can't overthink anything."

The words were slow to penetrate and when they did, she choked slightly.

"Oh dear. Have I offended the virtuous mortal?" Calli's nose wrinkled. "The perennially virgin bride?"

Sarah sputtered again. "I'm not. I mean we didn't… but look, I'm not some naïve innocent."

"Oh my little pearl, you are an absolute infant to one such as me. But don't take offence. I merely meant you seem to put a lot of stock in scratching an itch."

The same word she'd herself used made her start. "I'm not offended. I just know that sex can… complicate things."

Calli propped her head on her hand. "May I give you some advice?"

"If I said no would that stop you?"

"Stop thinking. Take what you want. Make no apologies."

Sarah snorted. "Easy for you to say. You haven't been tricked into a marriage you don't want."

"You may not want the marriage, but I know you _want_ the fucking. It's radiating off you." The siren looked like she was enjoying. "So why not take it and then break the union."

Sarah glanced up suspiciously at the last, face a little warm at the idea Calli could tell discern any such thing. "I thought you were on your cousin's side?"

"Oh, I like him well enough. And when it suits me I certainly help. But being noble for too long leaves an unpleasant aftertaste in my mouth." A slim hand trailed up Sarah's arm. "If you're worried about losing face, it needn't be Jareth to scratch that itch."

Sarah tensed, preparing to tell Calli that she didn't swing that way. But that would be a lie as the siren was something else altogether. Sex on legs. And though Sarah had never been tempted in that direction, she could suddenly picture them writhing together, clothes discarded on the floor_. The smell of salt and sex heavy in the air. A silvery head between her legs finishing what Jareth had started- Jareth…_

"Calli," a gruff voice warned. Sarah's eyes cleared, her body strung taut like a bow.

The siren dropped her hand with a pout. "You are bent on spoiling everyone's evening tonight, aren't you?"

Cern shook his head and folded his arms. "I'm certain you're not trying to do Jareth such a disservice as seducing his wife in front of all soot and sundry. Not to mention the bet said no tricks. Take your siren song back to the sea where it belongs."

"You're just upset she likes fins more than fur." She turned back to Sarah. "He's feeling a little on edge now that his cousin wants to serve his head on a platter at the next feast." She eyed the Hunter again. "But if I'm not to your taste," she scoffed like that was outlandish, "I'm quite certain Cern would happily relieve your tension. Unless of course it's more than _just an itch_."

Sarah glanced between then two of them, both of them beautiful immortals and both of them promising all sorts of things. She was uncertain if she wanted to laugh or have the ground open up and swallow her whole. "This is so not happening right now." Sarah stood. "I'm going to bed. And that's not an invitation," she added quickly. "I'd imagine your cousin wouldn't take kindly to either of you trying to win some silly bet by getting his wif-" She trailed off and then looked suspiciously at them both, feeling like she'd been played. "Nevermind!"

"Sweet dreams." Calli blew a kiss and then didn't bother to hide her laugh when Sarah's brow furrowed further.

When Sarah got back to her room, she was relieved enough to almost cry when she spied the steaming tub set up in the centre of her room. It was copper and high backed and the scent of something spicy and floral saturated the room. She was sticky and dirty and uncomfortable and dearly needed a thorough washing, but the thought of bathing in the spacious bath house was more than she could handle.

As she stripped, she caught sight of herself in the mirror for the first time. Smudged make-up. Braids full of feathers and forest. Torn clothing. She looked anything like a wild thing. Her eyes too green against the kohl. Worse were the fingerprints in matching black that crossed her skin and clothing like a trail map of where'd he'd been. For all to see.

Grimacing she shucked the rest of her ruined clothing and slid into the perfumed water. She felt each ache and protest as the hot water flooded her abused flesh. She methodically began to pull the braids from her hair, dropping the debris on the floor. The tub was large enough and deep enough she could slide completely beneath the surface. She used her fingers to rub at her marked skin, only surfacing when she needed air. Pockets of kohl floated across the water. She plucked a sodden feather – missed in her ministrations – and considered it.

It was all like a strange dream from which she could not wake.

When her fingers pruned she reluctantly pulled herself from the tub to don the fluffy robe that had been left on the bed.

Her eyes crept to the adjoining door. Curiosity had her crossing the distance and pressing her damp head against the wood. She immediately stepped back as though he was mirroring her on the other side of it.

She quickly moved away, bumping into the small table that held her notes from the library. She'd not had time to revisit them. Wiping her hands on the robe she picked them up again.

_He'd called her a coward. Him. When he had all the power._

_Will is as strong as yours._

Walking to the decorative desk she pulled a thick piece of parchment free from the drawer and carefully began to write, consulting her notes several more times as she did. She reread it a few times and then satisfied, she opened the door to her room and hailed a guard, giving him explicit instructions. Twice just to be safe and using hand gestures as well.

Exhaustion licked at her bones so she crawled into the hideous but blessedly soft bed and fell into a troubled sleep.

* * *

The next morning Jareth was in the throne room, entertaining a handful of important guests. He would have bogged the lot of them if he could have. _She_ was nowhere to be seen, but that was probably for the best. He knew she could not have gone anywhere, small satisfaction though that was.

At precisely nine o'clock a nervous looking guard entered the throne room, his eyes round in fear and pulled an envelope free from his uniform. He handed it to the Chamberlain.

The Chamberlain, a stout chap with delusions of grandeur, was annoyed to be disturbed and ignored him until it became clear the guard was not going to leave. Once the letter was in the Chamberlain's hands, the guard bid such a hasty retreat it should have told him his day was about to become the most miserable. Tearing open the envelope, his own eyes widened and then closed tightly. He'd had a good life he supposed. He clanked his staff and then clearing his throat several times in succession, he began to read aloud.

Silence was slow to fall, but when it did it was the kind one felt. Jareth – who was already feeling stretched thin – trailed off mid story in annoyance. When the Chamberlain finished, the murmurs resumed almost immediately and then hushed almost as quickly as all eyes fell to the Goblin King.

His face was a mask – the only betrayal, a twitch of his lips that could have been amusement and might have been anger. Or something worse than both.

"But what does it mean? Really?" asked Rook, the only one daring enough to ask aloud and likely the only one who could have asked and been spared.

The Chamberlain inched towards the exit.

"What it really means," the Goblin King replied carefully, "is that my wife has declared war."

* * *

**AN:** Don't come for me! YOU KNOW ME! You knew I was going to blue-ball him. If you were honest, YOU KNEW I WOULD DO THAT. And really I blue-balled them both this time, yo.

But hey… lots of groping and progress (okay one step forward, two steps back) between them and handfuls of naughty bits. Cern is that cousin we all hated.

Let's be honest, even I want them to bang already. They do much better when they aren't talking and both desperately need it.

Going to try to get this story updated again and Tanglewood wrapped up before I dip my foot into Star Wars fanfic. TROS wrecked me (no spoilers) and I realized I MUST excise this demon of a Reylo fic if I am to function. That does NOT mean I am abandoning Labyrinth! Labyrinth is my jam and where I cut my teeth, and I have way too much fun messing with the King and the girl who ate the peach to stop. I'll eventually get back to Of Caterpillars and Goblin Kings (never abandon a fic) too, it's just hard to write a summer romp when it's winter.


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